


Call me by your scent

by Doralice



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alpha Steve Rogers, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Artist Steve Rogers, Awkward First Times, Awkward Flirting, Claiming Bites, Courting Rituals, Cuddling & Snuggling, Domestic Steve Rogers/Tony Stark, Dorks in Love, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Enthusiastic Consent, Friends to Lovers, Howard Stark's A+ Parenting, Knotting, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mating Rituals, Minor Bruce Banner/Natasha Romanov, Minor Bucky Barnes/Sam Wilson, Minor Pepper Pots/James "Rhodey" Rhodes, Miscarriage, Mpreg, Multi, Nesting, Nightmares, Omega Tony Stark, Past Child Abuse, Past Pepper Potts/Tony Stark, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Steve Rogers, Rimming, Scent Marking, Scenting, Self-Lubrication, Sharing a Bed, Slow Burn, Steve Rogers Feels, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Has Issues, Tony Stark Has Self-Esteem Issues, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-05
Updated: 2020-08-29
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:02:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 23,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24554335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Doralice/pseuds/Doralice
Summary: Tony Stark is an Omega and he hates it. Plain and simple. He takes suppressants and blockers and every exsisting chemical that can help him hide his sub-genre. He avoids Alphas like his life depends on it. Needless to say, he never shared a heat with an Alpha. All his life he went on pretenging to be a Beta, and nobody knows the truth nor the reasons about his issues with his sub-genre. Nobody still alive, at least.But then -Then they thawed out from arctic ice an old war hero.Steve Rogers was an Omega, then the serum turned him into an Alpha. And into a super-soldier with an enhanced sense of smell. He can smell the lie on Tony - quiet litterally. But you know, Steve Rogers belong to an era where Alphas were real gentlemen. So, without really know what he's doing, he start courting Tony. And he do it like a good Alpha would do back in his days - like omega!Steve dreamed to be courted.But how will the elusive Omega react to this?[A.K.A. the A/B/O toothrooting Stony nobody asked for, but I'm obsessed with it from years, so I have to get it out from my head.]
Relationships: Minor or Background Relationship(s), Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Comments: 44
Kudos: 305





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Call me by your scent](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23892304) by [Doralice](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Doralice/pseuds/Doralice). 



> Hello everyone! This is my third attempt to translate one of my fanfictions, and I don't have a beta. I'm sure I've made some mistakes, so please report them to me and I'll fix them. :)

_This is ~~a man's~~ an Alpha's world_

_This is ~~a man's~~ an Alpha's world_

_But it wouldn't be nothing_

_Nothing without ~~a woman~~ an Omega_

_~~He's~~ They're lost in the wilderness_

_~~He's~~ They're lost in bitterness_

[ James Brown – This Is  ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zQ4Va15uJ2U&feature=youtu.be) ~~[ a Man's Man's Man's ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zQ4Va15uJ2U&feature=youtu.be) ~~ [ an Alpha's Alpha's Alpha's World ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zQ4Va15uJ2U&feature=youtu.be)

*

Since the day he presented as Omega, Tony had hated his sub-genre. But after Afghanistan, oh, after that it had become a fucking endless nightmare.

Despite the hormonal implant in his mating gland, the post traumatic stress burned out his suppressants and he had collapsed in the longest forty-eight hours of his life, stucked in the worst heat he ever experienced. At the end of that hell, he had asked J.A.R.V.I.S. to contact his doctor and get a new implant, with strong dosage.

And it had worked, really – for a while.

Then it was the battle of New York. The attack of the Chitauri, the wormhole, the bomb…

While he was fasting on shawarma with the other Avengers, Tony already felt the blood crackle under his skin. He had a high concentration dose of suppressants, just for emergencies like these. He shot himself as soon as he stepped back into the Stark Tower’s riuns.

Well, it had no fucking effect.

It seemed impossible but again his body had respond to the huge stress by annihilating every type of chemical cocktail with which he tried to put a brake on his hormones.

Tony took refuge in his Malibu villa and faced that heat reclused in his nest-room, drowning himself in alcohol and denial. Would it always be like this? Hell, no! He couldn't stand it. He was Iron Man. But more than anything, he was Anthony Edward Stark. He never could afford it, less he could afford it now.

_"Don't be weak. Control yourself!"_

There was a precise reason if Tony pumped himself with drugs to get rid of the physiological implications of his sub-gender. His father, social pressure, his job. Okay, there was more than one reason. But if he had to choose only one, here it is: his father.

For Tony heats had always been an alternation of physical agony in which he lost track of who he was, with horrible moments of lucidity in which he constantly heard his father's voice, full of the usual disappointment. Eve after Howard’s death.

Howard had been an acceptable father – authoritarian when not absent, but hey, it could have been worse, if nothing else the emotional void was filled by the presence of his loving mother, holy woman. Honestly, he was really a good father – at least during his childhood. As soon as Tony reached puberty and presented himself as an Omega, everything changed.

_"You should have become my heir. How can somone reduced to this state be taken seriously?" _

It was Maria who pushed him to take suppressants and blockers, to pretend to be Beta, to enter MIT. The aim: to be able to move away from Howard's influence. He was devastating Tony’s self-perception, forcing him in the very stereotype that he so despised, unable to see beyond the biological limits and standards imposed by society. His mother knew he was more than that, he saw beyond the “Omega” label and the preconceptions that Howard's generation carried with them.

_"No Alpha will ever want someone like you." _

Whatever he did from that moment, Tony made a spite of his father's ideas. He favored the fact that Howard was ashamed that his only son was an Omega: he respected his choice to hide his true sub-genre. But he never respected him. He never gave him credit, even in the face of the overwhelming evidence of his extraordinary successes. But of course any single of Tony’s slips was punctually placed under the harsh light of Howard’s criticisms.

He would never have been enough.

So Tony made a point to be consistent with his father’s view. Like a child who stomps his feet and screams and cry only to get his parents’ attention.

Here the thing: it's not that he missed his father's expectations. If he wanted, Tony could have been exactly what Howard wanted in a son – Omega or not, it didn't matter a fucking thing. No. Tony refused even to approach those expectations, voluntarily and with specific intention. And at the same time he effortless excellede in every field in which he applied.

Tony was right there and he was extraordinary, but he was out of Howard's reach. And fuck him.

It wasn’t his father who had told him what he could or could not be, based on the limits of his biology. It was Tony – only Tony – who deliberately decided that no, he would never submit to his damned standards. He wouldn’t be flattened, muted, discolored his soul in order to stick among the narrow expectations of others. Tony would have pulled down every standard – Tony would have knocked down even his own standards.

Then there was the car accident and that unhealthy game died between the sheets of the car, without Tony and his father ever being able to reconcile. The damage was done and Tony couldn't even afford to cry. He found himself having to take Howard's place in the management of Stark Industries, fill the role he never wanted – the role his father didn't think possible he would have been able to take.

What an infamous fate’s joke.

At this point of his life, Anthony Edward Stark – genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist – could have put aside the relationship problems with a now dead father who had made him suppress his real sub-genre, causing him a domino effect of large – disproportionately large – dimensions, and which he categorically refused to face. He could also have taken his life in hand, there was no longer anyone to account for.

If not himself and the eternal lie in which he had settle down.

*

Citrus and cinnamon.

Stark had just entered the room and Steve didn't need to turn around to find out. He was amazed that the others present at the table managed to maintain a neutral expression. The smell was heavy and tinged with a note of despair that lefted a bitter taste on his tongue. He opened his mouth to avoid having to breathe through his nose.

Steve followed him with his eyes as he greeted and took a seat. Feeling already tensing up, he tried hard to stoically ignore his instinct and force himself to stop staring at him, refocusing his attention on Fury. There was nothing that could freak him out like an Omega in anguish. But Stark was officially a Beta and Steve wasn't going to highlight the lie. It wasn't his business.

Moreover, Stark was not the first nor the last to pretend to be a different sub-genre. Back in the forties Steve himself had lied in order to have the possibility of being recruited into the army, wasting his few savings to collect on the black market the suppressants and blockers he could find – and jeopardizing his already weak health taking those chemical crap. Thank goodness medical science had made progress and now an Omega could choose without compromising their health. Stark had chosen – and Steve had to stay in his place.

It didn’t mattered that Steve’s super-smell made him aware about Stark’s true sub-genre and his emotional state: it was his job to keep checked his inner Alpha, because it was quite clear that Stark did not want any Alpha around.

So Steve pushed back the rumbling that rose from his throat and tried not to put out “worried Alpha” smell. Because the others in that room were all been under blockers and everything else, as it was used in that modern era, but when you are a super-soldier there is no way you won't be noticed. Fortunately Steve had enough experience about that kind of thing. You cannot go to war without having full self-control. A feral Alpha is the last thing a platoon of soldiers needs.

Citrus fruits and cinnamon and a spike of anxiety.

Fury was talking, but Steve could no longer follow him. Again, his gaze shifted to Stark. The Omega rose up simulating a phlegm that did not belong to him.

“That’s all very interesting, really, but if you don't mind I have a couple of things to finish. In the lab. Very important things. And, oh my God, Nick, you have to work on your synthesis skill. I means, they’re called briefing for a reason. Anyway… you know the address, send me the bill. I will be happy to lavish the Stark Industries’ funds in any of your wonderful idealistic project. Bye everyone. Don't worry about sending me the meeting summary.”

None of those present made a turn: those exits were typical of Stark. Steve held his breath and released it when the meeting room door closed behind the Omega. He remained nailed in his chair for a few minutes, stiff with tension. But Fury's words couldn’t cross the threshold of the eardrums and reach the brain.

*

Leather and resin.

The elevator doors was about to close when a hand blocked them and Rogers step in, filling the cockpit his smell. It was atypically sweet for an Alpha and for Tony it had been a puzzle since he first met him. His childhood hero. If Tony had been sentimental he would have mulled over it, but he was not the type. And right now that smell was just insufferable.

“Rogers.”

He moved on his feet to make room for him. The elevator door closed in front of them.

“Stark.”

In that small space it was nearly impossible not to notice every nuance of his smell. Impossible not to grasp the note of concern. And how fucking disturbing was! How disconcerting! It was always like that with Rogers, but not Tony was still busy recovering from the heat, so it was even worse. He felt a miserable version of himself: hypersensitive and ultra-receptive, ready to withdraw hissing like a wild animal.

“Are you alright?”

Tony closed his eyes and pursed his lips, praying that the blocker were doing their damned job. Because he was unable to assess whether, as he feared, it was putting “uncomfortable” his smell. And the last thing he needed now was an anxious super-Alpha buzzing around him.

“Great, Cap. Perfeclty.”

Relaxed. Serene. Unperturbed.

“Look, I know we don't have a good record. We probably started off on the wrong foot-”

Tony raised a finger: “No! No. Stop it.”

Rogers fell silent and withdrew, shrugging in his shoulders. It was an attitude that Tony had seen a few times in other Alphas, but he never focused on it. This all Alpha thing to try to look smaller, less dangerous. Well, surely it was irrational, but right now it irritated him in an unspeakable way. As if he needed reassurance! He needed space, damn it, only space.

“I had a shitty week.”

“Well, no offence but it’s quite plain.”

Caution filled the cockpit. Fuck, Tony didn't need caution. He needed air.

“Really?! – He snapped – Well, it’s quite plain that is plaim to you.”

The elevator pinned and the doors slided open on the hangar. Tony opened his mouth and took a deep breath of the cold metallic air.

“And I don't need...” He gestured between them as he walked backwards “This. Okay? I came to the meeting. Isn’t enough? Do we also have to hang out together? ‘Cause I’m not...” He raised his hands in surrender “Now I can't. okay? I appreciate the effort, really, but leave me room.”

Leave me room. Leave me room. Leave me room.

“I didn't mean to be intrusive.”

Leather, resin and a closing of regret.

Tony bit his tongue as he reached the suit armor. He was so damn happy that his brilliant brain had thought to include air filters in the project.

“Ever heard of blockers?” He said in a lashing tone.

It may have been normal in Rogers era, but today people were trying their best to mitigate their smell and the effect it had on others.

“They don't work on me.”

Tony stepped in the armor: “Mh?”

“They don’t work.” He heard him repeat “My metabolism burn them in minutes.”

“Talk to Banner. The man is good with chem and all.” Tony remained still while the plates of the armor arranged themself around his body, shelding, protecting him “In the meantime do me a favor: stay away from me.”

Rogers stepped back. If Tony had been mentally lucid he would have noticed how far Rogers was from his usual ways. But Tony was not mentally lucid and above all he had no energy to stand by and watch others, not when he was still centered on himself. Picking up the pieces and getting back on his feet it was a hard work.

“It’s okay. I know what it's like to face a post-heat alone.”

It was like a punch in the stomach. Tony sucked in the air and finally looked at him, for really. Rogers kept his gaze without hesitation, but Tony couldn't read it – he just couldn't. He was exposed and burning to death and he just wanted it to stop, but every fiber of his being was paralyzed.

“Ah...” He exhaled.

Panic began to meander in his veins, reached the diaphragm, took his breath away.

Rogers smelled the hair and raised his eyebrows: “Ah?”

“Attack or flight reaction, Rogers. Does it say anything to you?”

He tilted his head to the side, looking at him cautiously.

“Yes.”

Tony snapped his tongue and the mask plate fell on his face.

“And you had the brilliant idea of provoking it in a man with lethal armor.”

He turned on the propellers and ejected himself out of the Helicarrier's hangar.

*

Flight. Stark had chosen flight.

Steve lazily flipped through the scribbled sheets, the pencil nervously drumming between his fingers. Eventually he closed the album with a dry gesture and fell backwards on the sofa, rubbing his face.

More than a week had passed and still he couldn’t get out of his head what had happened on the Helicarrier. Steve had known the man for less than a month and every time they met is a damn roller-coaster. Always like this, since the very first moment he had Stark in front in front of him. The spitting copy of Howard Stark, the same overbearing frown, the so similar smell – it all gave Steve a load of unpleasant reminiscences. And beyond that, the immediate – and absolutely unwanted – awareness that actually Stark was an Omega.

No surprise that their first meeting had gone so badly. It wasn't all about Loki's tricks: there were rather heavy premises, at least from Steve. Now the damage was done and his stupid attempt to fix it had failed miserably. He had never been good at such things. Give him a squad of Nazis to punch and you’ll have a good upshot, but in the field of interpersonal relationships he was a human disaster.

Steve tried to absolve himself, to mitigate the sense of guilt. He was still recovering from the shock of crushing in the ice in 1943, convinced that he was sacrificing himself for his country and the whole world, and then he woke up in 2011, all his life wiped out in what had been just a breath for him. Then they immediately threw him into a pangalactic battle. And now this.

If only he could have suppressed his sub-genre.

There was never peace for him – never. Neither as a civilian nor as a soldier. Neither as an Omega nor as an Alpha.

As an Omega, he would have been too weak and frail to be able to take of any sort of cycle reglators – beside the fact that back in the forties those drugs were illegals. This hadn't stopped him from doing it anyway, just to be able to pass as a Beta and have the chance to be enlisted. So much so that his state of health could worsen more than that: at that point he would preferred the risk in the vain hope of being useful to his country. Steve wasn't afraid of dying, if it was worth it – he was afraid of dying without a purpose, with the regret of never having done anything good for the world.

Well, eventually it turned out that he had managed to do something good, and that he could continue to do it. The price to pay was no longer his health – it was his freedom.

Forgo Steve Rogers, hide him behind the shield with the star.

He had given up being himself sixty years ago when he first wore the Captain America suit, and he had no high hopes that things could be different now. He was a symbol, and symbols cannot have the luxury of carving out a life of their own. Not even after having thoughtfully made sure that the rest of the world is safe and sound.

It is what it is, and there was no room for self-pity. There were no support groups for dated superheroes without the slightest foundation on how to start living again. When he enlisted for Project Rebirth, Steve knew the risks of war. What he didn't know were the risks of peace.

What happens after the battle? What happens to the super-soldier when he is no longer needed?

Steve hadn't asked himself those questions when he signed up. All he thought about as he entered the experiment cell was that there was a war out there that was devastating the whole world, and he had been called to help.

After that – whatever nuance it took – there was no time to worry.


	2. Chapter 2

_Before the day I met you_

_Life was so unkind_

_Your love was the key to my peace of mind_

_'Cause you make me feel_

_You make me feel_

_You make me feel like a natural ~~woman~~ Omega_

[ Aretha Franklin – (You Make Me Feel Like) A Natural  ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dEWuAcMWDLY) [ ~~ Woman ~~ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dEWuAcMWDLY) [ Omega ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dEWuAcMWDLY)

*

It was with a strange mixture of relief and perplexity that he found Stark in front of him, sitting casually on a bench, with ice cream in each hand and three hundred dollar of sunglasses to shield his eyes. Steve slowed his run until he stopped a couple foots away from him under Central Park's spring sunshine.

“How many laps have you done? Nah, I don't want to know. Here.”, He hands him one of the ice cream, “I'd kill to have your metabolism.”

Dumbfounded by his usual talk, Steve wiped his sweat and cautiously accepted the offers. He was not sure what to expect, but something told him that an ice cream was equivalent to a peace offer, so he congratulated himself for choosing not to push but instead to wait patiently for him to show up.

“So.” Stark got up and started walking, apparently concentrated on his ice cream, “How long have you known?”

Mimicking the same phlegm, Steve joined him.

“From the beginning.”

As surreal as it was, there was no need to specify what they were referring to.

“Enhached olfact?”

“Something like that, I think.”

Steve hadn't had a chance to explore that side of himself yet. Back in the forties, suppressors and inhibitors were outlawed in the United States, no one could silence their sub-genre as was customary now. It was considered an abominable, unnatural act.

After the serum he had noticed how his olfact had increased, as well all the other senses, but it had not been an epochal change. Now, in 2012, surrounded by people constantly on drugs, this put him in an uncomfortable position. As reserved and honest as he was, Steve didn't care in the least to discover the secrets of the people around him.

But now that particular secret was out, filling with unspoken questions the void between the two of them. Steve couldn't help but be curious: Stark was a strange puzzle. Much of the frustration that had hovered over their first encounter was due to the fact that Steve just couldn't quite figure it out the man.

“Who else knows?”

“You mean, apart from my doctor and Pepper? Um… J.A.R.V.I.S.?”

“Nobody else really? Not even Rhodes? Hogan?”

“Nah.” Stark shrugged, “Well, I'm almost sure that Fury found out with his ways and Natasha isn't one who can be fooled. And Banner…” Between one lick and another of ice cream Stark took on a thoughtful expression, “Frankly I'm happy that when he pulls out the Hulk I always have the armor on, ‘cause I think that the beast can feel it.”

Stark spoke lightly, but Steve wasn't sure how far he could go with the questions. No matter how hard he tried to appear relaxed and not to throw out anxiety, his smell betrayed him. Yet it was there. Stark was there and did not seem willing to run away again.

“Colonel Rhodes is your best friend.” He ventured to point out.

“Yeah.” Stark swallowed the last piece of ice cream and grimaced, “Can you imagine how he would react if he founds out that I lied to him for almost thirty years?”

Steve had never met the colonel, but he knew him by reputation, he knew how much him and Stark had shared. And he knew something about friendships that span decades and survive wars and tragedies. So he was pretty sure Rhodes wouldn't judge his best friend in any way. But he still refrained from carrying on that speech: it was clear that Stark had his ideas on the matter and there would be no point in getting in the way, if not to annoy him. Steve was in no position to advise him on such a personal aspect. The fear of losing a loved one is sometimes able to raise barriers that over time become impassable ramparts: breaking them down is no small job.

Stark crumpled the ice cream paper and he threw it in a passing basket. The fresh air of Central Park smelled of citrus, cinnamon and melancholy. Talking about Rhodes and the secrets Stark had to hide from him hadn't been the best of ideas. Steve bit the inside of his cheek and concentrated on the pain, chasing away any harassing drive that was springing up in response to Stark's discomfort. He had once ruined the situation, he would not have done it again, certainly not after Stark was the first to move towards a kind of reconciliation.

“I usually control myself.” He snapped.

Ah, God, it seemed like a pathetic excuse. No, it _was_ – it totally was a pathetic and shameful excuse.

“I was coming down from the heat.” Stark gestured casually, “A heavy one. Any Alpha would have reacted like this.”

Steve didn't mind a damn how the average Alpha would react. He had never based his behavior on comparison: he could do better and he would have done it. But he also believed that at that moment Stark had no need of an apologetic scoffing Alpha: they were there to confront each other and, perhaps – perhaps, why not? – find in common ground. If they wanted to work together, they had to try.

“Has this happened to you already?” He asked, hoping not to be crossing that vague border that has not yet been fully traced.

“Right after Afghanistan. You know, all the stress and… well, it sucked and I somatized that way.”

Steve nodded: “A false heat.”

“Yeah.”

Stark’s voice was flat, his gaze distant. He was good at it – hide himself, his feels. Even too good. Years and years in the media spotlight, Steve reflected sadly. If he hadn't been able to read him in his scent, he might have fooled Steve.

“It happened once to me, too. After my mother's passed away.” Found himself remembering, “In the post-heat Bucky was unsufferable, I could not get rid of him.”

Curiosity infiltrated Stark's smell. It was not a new nuance: after all he was a scientist, he was curious by nature towards everything he found somehow interesting. However, Steve had never felt his interest facing him. He had never even remotely thought that Tony Stark could be even vaguely intrigued by him.

“So you two–”

Steve raised his eyebrows and stared at him, because he wasn't good at that kind of talks and wasn't sure Stark was really alluding to _that_.

“Were you… uh… bonded? Or what?”

Oh God, he _was_ alluding.

“No!” He blurted with a shiver down his back, “Jesus, no. We grew up together, we… I could never have–”

Stark raised his hands: “I'm just saying, I saw the photos and the videos and… wow! I mean, the guy wasn't bad at all. How did he smell? ‘Cause I bet–”

“Please!” Steve covered his eyes, “We were like brothers. He was just protective around me. And he wasn't entirely wrong.”

Wait – what the hell he was saying? Those are exactly the bigoted speeches he always hated to hear back when he was an Omega.

“I was stupid and impulsive and paid no attention to my health.” He listed anyway, unable to restrain himself.

“Oh, yeah?” Stark grinned, “And what has changed?”

Looking back on what had happened on the Helicarrier, he couldn't blame him.

“That they pumped me out of serum. Now I can be stupid and impulsive without having to worry too much about killing myself in the process.”

Stark stopped and for a moment they looked at each other. Steve couldn't see his gaze under the sunglassess, but he was sure he was peering at him.”

“I can't allow the rest of the world to know.”

So, they had finally come to that part of the conversation. By now Steve was a little bit hurt by it: the lack of trust. After all, they had fought together, they won together, side by side.

“Believe me, I wish I didn't know. It does not concern me. It's like…” He clenched his jaw, fidgeting on his feet, “Like being forced to spy on other people's homes. But there is no way to…” He gestured vainly and finally shook his head, “To mute it. And I think it can happen again, because I just can't stop being like this. I'm sorry.”

“You are a super Alpha with a super sense of smell and you can't even count on suppressants.” Stark said dryly, “I think you can stop apologizing.”

“Back in my day I had to endure Alpha like me all the time.” He growled in frustration, “The only good thing of being frozen for sixty years, is the fact that behaviors like that are no longer socially accepted today.”

“Hey hey! Shhh… calm dow, big boy.”

Stark raised a hand and took a step towards him. Except then seem to freeze with the hand blocked mid-air. The distance was eventually covered and Stark managed to awkwardly pat him on the shoulder.

“There, there.” He muttered uneasily, “Stop doing that, please? You're like… a forge of pheromones and I don't know what to do with all this tension, okay?"

“Yes. Sorry, I… sorry.”

“No more apologies. I beg you.” Stark stepped back, putting some distance between them again, “Are we okay?”

Steve nodded: “We are fine.”

“Well.” Stark let out a sigh, “For Tesla's soul, I need something stronger than ice cream now.”

Stark stuck his hands in his pockets and greeted him. Just like he showed there, he was about to leave with the same studied nonchalance. Steve watched him go. It was clear that all of this wasn’t easy for Stark as much it wasn’t for him.

“Stark.” He called back.

The man stopped and twirled on himself, his head tilted in question.

“Thanks for your trust.”

Harmless and reassuring, at a safe distance.

Stark raised his eyebrows and smiled sarcastically: “Do I have any choice?”

No, he had no choice, nor have Steve. Stark nodded thoughtfully.

Than he pointed in his direction: “Your ice cream is melting, Capsicle.”

For the first time since Stark had gave it to him, Steve paid attention to the ice cream. He made a face when he noticed how it had melted to his elbow, and that must been a funny face, as Stark greeted him with a laugh. Red with embarrassment, Steve muttered an answer as he sucked ice cream off his fingers.

*

It took a few months to settle down before starting a sort of functional relationship that did not compromise teamwork. And as much as he was less than amused at first, Tony was sure that seen from the outside the situation would have been hilarious.

Broadly speaking, things went always like this. There was some mission at the end of the world and a small group of them were sent to risk the neck bone, they came back dented but alive and in serious sleep deprivation. By tacit agreement, during the work Rogers was impeccable, they both are – and Tony would not have been able to say if he had to thank the air filters of his armor or the admirable self-control of Rogers or both – probably both. But for sure he would never have denied that in the battlefield the two of them worked perfectly.

The aftermath was another matter.

When any threat had been obliterated and the victorious heroes could allow themselves to rest and return to their – more or less – normal life, Rogers' attitude changed imperceptibly. Slowly, as the adrenaline dropped down leaving room for the tiredness and shortage of post-war emotions that they all knew too well, Rogers began to gravitate around him.

It was no more than a few apprehensive glances or a cautious question. And the first few times, oh, Tony was simply _baffled_. He wished he could say he was annoyed, but francly he was not. Rogers kept himself so respectfully in his own space that Tony couldn't feel harassed. And all Tony had to do was answer to Rogers’ doubts, give him the slightest reassurance, or even just ask him to leave him room, and the Alpha immediately fell into the ranks.

Over time, even this subtle interaction between them became part of the mission routine, leaving any discomfort or embarrassment behind. Just as, without even realizing it, somewhere between one mission and another they had left behind “Rogers” and “Stark” to make room for “Steve” and “Tony”. Until they found themselves relax at the point they could even joke about it.

“Are you alright?” Steve usually asked when they were far from prying ears.

Then Tony grinned and batted his eyelashes to him and said something like: “Oh yes, Alpha my Alpha!”

Tony grew bold and every time he added something, just for the fun of seeing him blush.

“Strong Alpha! Thoughtful Alpha!” He chirped, refraining from laughing, “You know well how to take good care of me. So, so well.”

Steve growled playful: “Omega! Settled.”

Scenes like this were played more or less at the end of each mission. It was an unorthodox way to release tension, but for Tony was fine. He was happy to be able to play with his own sub-genre and pretend to flirt with an Alpha. He had never done either. Having the opportunity to experiment in that way with someone he could trust was a new and interesting thing, liberating even.

And seriously, it was paradoxical and completely insane. Because Tony had spent his whole life pretending to be Beta and dodging the Alpha as if his life depended on it, and now he was working side by side with one of them and joking with him, being able to show a side of himself that he had show to nobody. Not even to Pepper.

Tony just didn't know where all this would lead. And for a control freak like him he was bizarre that he wasn't worried about it. A part of him felt reassured that he was committed with Pepper, because there was another part – a rather new and unknown and a bit frightening part – that felt flattered by Steve's attentions. Too flattered, honestly. In a completely unexpected way. So well, really, it was great that Tony was currently engaged in a serious relationship with Pepper. Because get a crush over a teammate that was clearly acting just for the sake of both their biology, well, that would be a damn mess.

But then Killian came out with that Extremis atrocity. And everything started to change.

*

On mission the news always came deferred. Partly because for security reasons they often were left out of communication systems, and partly because it was counterproductive to receive certain news when it was necessary to focus on the goal. Steve understood it, for real. He had been in the army, he fought during the war, he fully understood the whys. Yet he was _damn_ _pissed_.

He was full-load with restrained anger on the return journey. The rest of the team stayed away and tried to interact with him the bare minimum. As soon as the Quinjet landed on the launch bay of the Avengers Tower, Steve rushed out and take the elevator.

“J.A.R.V.I.S. where is mister Stark?”

“Welcome back, Captain. Mister Stark is currently in the lab.”

“Take me there, please.”

The elevator doors closed and the cockpit moved.

Steve looked himself into the mirros, all red eyes and fangs throbbing and broken breaths. Hell, he didn't recognize himself. He took a deep breath and shook his head, trying to calm the Alpha down. He couldn’t present himself to Tony like this – neither of them wanted this.

Tony was there in the building and he was fine. Whatever had happened in those weeks when Steve was on mission, had already gone. Tony didn't need him to get by, he could take care of himself.

Tony was a strong and independent Omega. And Steve would always respect him.

*

Tony was a strong and independent Omega.

For this he had stolidly ignored the Quinjet landing, as if he had not had an eye all the time on a holographic projection of the return journey. Again, he had stolidly ignored J.A.R.V.I.S.’ notification about Steve’s imminent coming down to the lab. A little less stolidly he had welcomed said coming.

Tony really wanted to play that part well, but he resoundingly failed in front of the semi-feral Alpha which bore the name of Steve Rogers and the uniform of Captain America.

“Jesus Christ!” He clung to the work table and looked at him in alarm, “Did you make the return trip in _that state_?”

From the doorway, Steve swallowed hard and looked back at him.

“Are you…” He gasped “Are you okay? Please, just… tell me you are okay.”

Tony lowered his head and raised a hand. Steve was a good person, but Tony knew from personal experience how good people can become when the Alpha emerges without restrains. And that was a fucking super Alpha.

“I'm fine.” He said slowly, cautiously, as he was taming a wild beast “Steve? I'm fine, all right? You see it? I'm safe and sound.”

Steve nodded, but the red on his eyes did not retreat and Tony clearly saw his tongue sliding over his fangs. Fuck. Tony felt his blood flowed away from his face, his chest intertwined in an icy jelly and he was _suffocating_. He was again twelve years old and helpless under the grasp of a big, threatening Alpha…

And then it was gone.

As if he had received a punch in the stomach, Steve backed away, head down, hunched his shoulders. When he looked up, his eyes were blue again. _Steve_ was Steve again.

He cleared his throat: “Glad to find you well, Tony.”

And just like he had come, he turned on his heels and left.

Luky for Tony that his jaw was attached to the skull, or he should have picked it up from the floor.

*

“We need to talk.”

Steve lowered the barbell and raised his torso, sitting on the training bench. Obviously this moment had to come, but frankly he thought that Tony would choose a different situation.

“‘Please, forgive me.’” Tony read from a note, “Concise. And I appreciate the gift. I don’t know why people think I'm not the flower type, but actually I have a soft spot for daffodils. How did you know?”

Steve did not hold back a smile: “I guessed it.”

“Well, you guess good.” Tony smirked, than read from another note, “‘Sorry.’ I must say, the breakfast with which you accompanied the shortest of your messages was the most glorious that has ever ended up in my tummy. And you must be flattered ‘cause you are not the first who has tried to impress me with a good breakfast.”

Steve licked his lips and looked away, embarrassed. He wasn't sure he liked the Tony's playboy past allusion.

“‘I'm desolated.’” Again another ticket, “Honestly, I didn’t imagine that there were so many variations for the same concept, but still… the drawing.” Tony put a hand over his heart, “Steve, you have an incredible talent. I mean, I'm good at numbers, I don't know a shit about art, but it's… I'm speechless. I'm sorry I can't accept it. Really.”

Steve frowned: “What? Why?”

“Well, for now I can't keep a portrait of me and my ex were we seem happy. I'd give it to Pepper, but I think she would feel the same.”

“Did you… did you two break up? When? Why?”

“Slow down, _Stephanie_.” Tony made a laugh, but it was a tiny melancholy one, “I love to gossip when I'm not involved. If you want the details I am sure Happy will be able to inform you. Anyway…” He clapped his hands, “You are a champion to apologize but not at explain why.”

He crossed his arms over his chest and waited, the expression betraying a certain amusement. Steve put aside all the questions he had about him and Pepper and tried to gather some courage.

“You know why.” He said full of shame, “I was at the edge of feral, I shouldn't have present myself to you like that.”

“Yeah.” Tony seemed to be studying him, “I wonder what was going on in your head.”

Steve asked himself too. But he was too afraid to find the answer.

“You're not my Alpha.”

*

The words had come out harder than he would have liked. Habit, probably.

_You can't control me anymore._

“I'm not your Alpha.” Echoed Steve.

“And you didn't act like that.” Added Tony in a softest voice

He was there to fix things with Steve, to reassure him. Even if he feel absolutely nonsensical that he – _Tony Stark_ – willingly wanted to reassure an Alpha.

“Tony–”

“No. Now shut up and just pay attention.”

But Tony added nothing and, predictably, Steve stared at him all confused.

“I can't read your mind, so–”

“Yeah. Read my smell, then. Go on, Alpha.”

Steve's blue eyes widened in surprise.

Tony forced himself to stand still. He was tense and there was no point in trying to hide it, but he knew that under the tension Steve would read more, he would read everything else.

Heedful as always, Steve did not stand up – _fear_ meandering in his smell. Fear of scare the Omega with his imposing size, Tony imagined. By now he knew him well enough. All those protective Alpha attitudes that made his eyes roll.

Like the one he was willingly undergoing now: Steve leaning towards him, sniffing the air between them. It was a bit odd knowing that he’s studying his smell in all its nuances, sensing what even Tony wasn’t able to explain.

That Steve wasn't his Alpha, but Tony was still an Omega and no, he wouldn't have denied this in front of him. They had gone too far. And it was fine. Steve was fine. Steve had his trust, he had earned it.

“Are we good, Alpha?”

Steve straightened up and looked at him.

He nodded slowly: “We are good.”

Tony nibbled his tongue nervosuly.

“Very well.”

Tony's acceptance of his behavior was something that exceeded the expectations of both of them. It would not have been easy to come to terms with it. It would not have been easy to understand all the possible implications.

“So if it happens again?”

“Good Lord, don't send me all those notes again!” Tony sighed out in frustration, "Flowers are okay. Breakfasts are _very okay_ , you can make me breakfast even if you have nothing to forgive yourself for, you know? Handmade portraits… let's talk about it, mh?”

He smirked at the idea of posing for Captain America, a ridiculous – far ridiculous – picture of himself splayed over a sofa, just the arc reactor on him, full _Titanic_ ’s style. He was pretty sure he’s smelling a bit thrilled.

Steve take a sniff and smiled openly, his fangs on display: “Let's talk about it.”


	3. Chapter 3

_Every time I look into your lovely eyes_

_I see a love that money just can't buy_

_One look from you I drift away_

_I pray that you are here to stay_

_Anything you want you got it_

_Anything you need you got it_

_Anything at all you got it_

_Baby_

[ Roy Orbison – You Got It ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lvR1YgT7QYs)

*

As with everything related to Tony's private life, Steve found out how things had gone between him and Pepper practically by chance, during a completely unexpected situation.

“ _Waitwaitwait_ _!_ ”

Steve caught a hook in mid-air and leaned over the sack to look at him questioningly.

“What's up?”

“Okay, okay… wow! Um…” Tony raised his hands, “Let me put on the legs too, I don't think the arms’ propellers are enough.”

Steve shrugged: “Okay?”

“I don't know what you all think, but this jewel is not indestructible.” He said as the plates closed around his legs, “I mean, I’d like to think it too, but hey, let’s be real, this is nothing more than titanium. You survived an airplane crash and woke up like you just took a nap, so…”

Steve snorted and moved into position.

“Ready?”

Tony grabbed the sack and turned on the propulsers.

“Do your worst, Rocky.”

Steve really did his worst. There were few occasions when he could train properly, with someone on an equal footing. When Thor was around he could certainly count on him, and in Natasha he found a sparring mate far from underestimating, but there were more times when he had to get by. Today, when he met Tony at the gym and asked him to train together, he hadn't really hoped for a positive reply. So, yes, he did his worst. Few things were satisfying as giving himself into a serious workout and venting all the stamina produced by the serum.

“Just to know,” Steve took a sip of water while resting on the tatami, “Since when have you been so protective of your Marks?”

Tony had just put the parts of the armor to bed. Quite literally. He had asked J.A.R.V.I.S. to send them to the lab and to order Dum-E and U to bathe them in the oil and give them a polish to remove the scratches, before putting them to rest.

“I've always been protective of my Marks.” He pointed out sharply, “Now that I have only one of them, I am overprotective and I pour my delusion of control on it.”

Steve choked on water and Tony stared at him puzzled.

“Everything okay?”

Steve blinked a confused look.

“Only one? What happened to the others… ehr…”

“Fourty one.” He finished for him with an obvious expression, as if shocked by the fact that Steve didn't know the answer, “For a total of forty-two.”

“Forty-two.” Echoed Steve, thinking that he was probably missing another pop-culture reference, “What happened to the other forty-one?”

“Ah, this is a really funny story!”

Tony got up from the tatami and pulled up his arms, stretching himself lazily. Steve tried not to get distracted by the elegant arch created by his back, and above all by the interesting counter-arch created by his ass. Because Tony had started to speak at supersonic speed – as usual – putting several arguments one after one – again as usual – and opening parentheses inside other parentheses with various annotations and appendices and “ah did I ever tell you about that time?” and going to end with a nice “anyway what I was saying?”. As usual.

But somehow, despite the digressions and the distractions, Steve managed to untie the skein of that story and understand something about it. He understood that Tony had spontaneously sacrificed his Marks to make amends after the events of Extremis. That this act had cost him a great deal, but that for the sake of his relationship with Pepper he considered it necessary. That apparently that sacrifice hadn't been enough anyway.

The reactor: that was the final issue.

“I'm sorry.”

Steve knew about war’s traumas, but he was a trained soldier and had chosen that life. It could be objected that even Tony, despite being lacking in training, had chosen that same life, but in fact it was that life that had chosen Tony, whether he liked it or not.

For this he understood Pepper's request, but he also understood Tony's refusal. Giving up the reactor was too much, at least for now. The same reactor that he had built while in captivity, with makeshift materials, and that had managed not only to keep him alive but even to give him freedom.

Yes, Steve understood him: it would have been like giving up the serum. He could have given up on Captain America's shield, but certainly not on the serum.

“That’s okay. We wanted different things.” Tony shrugged. “She wanted something I couldn't give her. Not yet.”

Citrus and cinnamon tinged with _bitter sadness_. But no resignation, that was not there. Steve would not have been able to say if the shy hope he perceived in Tony was directed towards himself or towards the possibility of recovering his relationship with Pepper. He hoped for the first hypothesis. And for more than one reason, which however he categorically refused to analyze at the moment.

“Mex?”

Steve raised his eyebrows, taken aback: “Only if I can offer.”

“Do you remember I am, like, a _billionaire_?”

“Do you remember I'm an old-fashioned Alpha, yeah?”

With theatrical exasperation Tony rolled his eyes and muttered a “Geez”.

Steve grinned: “Yes, right, pretend you don't like it.”

He earned a scandalized shriek and a lash with the towel.

Oh, he _liked_ it. He liked it so much. Almost as much as Steve liked it.

*

As with everything related to his relationship with Steve, Tony didn't stop to analyze what was going on until it was too late. And then he did this thing were he found himself stuck in a loop of continuous and maniacal hyper-analysis.

Now, what was weird about sharing a dinner with a friend and team-mate? Nothing, of course. Nothing at all.

There was nothing weird if Steve stopped to have dinner with him after they trained together. Nor was there anything weird in repeating that experience several times, and more and more often, inserting variations, perhaps, between the themes of the meetings.

Where "variations" means that sometimes it was Steve who helped Tony train – supporting the barbell or keeping his legs during the abs. And God only knew how much Tony hoped that Steve was too focused on the exercises to be able to feel the subtle but rather _explicit_ change in his smell whenever they were so close and sweaty. Well, _he_ was sweaty, Steve was not even out of breath – damn him and his serum – and for Tony's calculating mind it was not easy to avoid lingering on the potential implications of such stamina.

“Variation” could have been that they didn't train at all, because Tony was busy with some project, but Steve – God bless that ninety years old grandpa trapped in the body of a God – found nothing better to do than to wander around the lab, asking Tony questions whose answers would have required an engineering degree to be understood, taking away his favorite snacks to replace them with more healthy stuff because “good heavens do you ever eat a decent meal?”, and finally resolving to stay in a corner with his drawing materials. And Tony, well, he did not know how to feel knowing that Steve was portraying him: after all he was used to being under the media’s merciless gaze, but Steve's gaze was different. In what way it was difficult to say – and above all to accept – but it was _certainly_ _different_.

“Variation” was also the choice of what eat for dinner. Anything could fill Tony’s stomach was fine for him, but Steve opinion was different on course. After the first few dinner of take away, he had showed up to the Tower with grocery bags and a look that Tony had only seen while he was in ‘Cap Mood’.

“Today we’re gonna cook.” He solemnly announced.

Tony watched him emptying the bags with a hint of concern.

“And the plural is mere rhetoric, I hope.”

“I can't believe there are two fridges here but inside there are only expired milk and Pop-Tarts inside.”

“Those are Thor's personal stock.”

Tony took out some packet from the bags.

“Pizza flour?” He read, “In the era blessed with instant noodles and microwave oven, why should you waste time making pizza with your own hands? I mean, if I want to work hard and then eat badly, all I have to do is just go to S.H.I.E.L.D.’s refectory. -

“Hey, that’s not that bad!”

Steve placed various ingredients on the table.

“Your opinion is irrelevant.” He replied, “To an old man like you, who grew up during the Great Depression, that slob will look like the Thanksgiving.”

Steve turned stiffly: “Old man?”

“Well, technically you're ninety-five.” Tony shrugged.

“ _Technically_ , I get frozen at twenty-five.” He pointed out while putting on an apron, “While how old are you this year? Let me do the math…”

Tony uttered a shocked verse and put a hand to his chest, scolding at him.

“You don't ask an Omega age!” He said with his nose in the air.

Steve chuckled and threw him an apron: “At the stove, Omega!”

Tony grabbed it and tied it up on the waist.

“And how dare you pigeonhole me into sub-gender stereotypes?!”

“Here we are. Since we gave you the right to vote–“

Tony opened a packet of flour and threw a handful at him.

“Here, Grandpa. Now you look your age.”

Steve didn't catch the provocation. At least until came the time to put the tomato sauce over the dough. The fight was unfairly unequal and as a good strategist Tony immediately understood that he was at a disadvantage, but he could take profit from his total lack of decency and the height difference. So when Tony found himself stuck against the kitchen counter by Steve's imposing mass, he let him spread the sauce on his face and stoically endured his victorious expression.

“See, this is where the heroes fall.” He then declaimed grabbing his wrist, “Those like you.” He specify as he brought his fingers to his mouth and, oh, how the tables had turned, huh?

“You know how saying goes.” He sucked his fingers and released it with a wet ‘pop’, “Go big or go home.”

Leather, resin and a vivid, obscene wave of _arousal_. Tony took advantage of his shock to duck and slip away from under Steve arm, giving him a playful spank before running away.

He felt revved up and no, he wouldn’t pretend that all this wasn’t fun. Maybe a little hazardous, but absolutely fun. Well, that night they were alone in the Tower, so there was no one who could judge him.

Somehow Steve came back functional, even though he no longer had the gut to wrestle with food. Which, in Tony’s opinion, it was a shame. Anyway, after two hours, in a kitchen in which it seemed had exploded a bomb, they managed to pull out from the oven what were _apparently_ two pizzas – but frankly they looked more like a failure of epic proportions. Finally, exhausted and dirty as they were, they dragged themselves to the sofa to watch _Sharknado_ and try to eat.

“You know what is really extraordinary?”

Steve swallowed a mouthful he was struggling to chew.

“That they funded a movie with sharks flying into a tornado?”

Tony choked out a laugh.

“From a physical point of view, I would be able to explain the presence of sharks inside a tornado Yet I can’t understand how is possible that the base of this pizza has been completely burnt while inside it has remained raw.”

Eventually they decided to give up their hope upon the pizza and fell back on toast and beer – a classic. While in the movie one of the protagonists were swallowed by a flying shark, Tony felt suddenly tired. That full and satisfied tiredness that makes your limbs slack and your eyes heavy and then you feel sink among the sofa pillows. Tony felt it on himself and in Steve's smell – the smell of an Alpha – and found himself in the feeling with immense and unexpected ease.

When Steve disappeared into the kitchen with the leftovers, and returned with a brownie for him and and fond smile, Tony found himself plunging in that feeling as if he had been born inside it.

“Tony?”

“Mhm?”

“What are you thinking about?”

Tony blinked at the end credits that ran across the screen. The brownie was gone: only crumbs left all over his dirty t-shirt. Steve was looking at him from the other side of the sofa, where they had slowly slipped, ending with entwine their legs in the middle. He spoked with a slow, soft voice, and his expression was openly curious. As if he already _knew_ but wanted to hear it from him, as if his smell wasn't enough.

Staring at him, Tony rolled his head on the sofa’s arm and no, he _did not_ bare his neck, but the motion was like a pale suggestion of _intention_. And it didn’t escape Steve: his smell swirled with a sweet hint of _hope_ that made Tony’s toes curl.

“That we should do it again.” He reply.

Steve smiled: “Yes, we should.”

And in fact they did it again.

That was only the first of many disastrous DIY dinners that neither of them digested, as many trash films that they put on only to be able to comment out loud. If they had eaten well or seen a good movie, they couldn’t have spent those hours pretending not to wooing eachother. Because those evenings weren't dates, absolutely not. But that didn't stop them from flirting badly, unable to call things by their name and carry them on properly.

So, every time Tony saw Steve show up with grocery bags and an improbable recipe – oh, what a mistake it had been to introduce him to cooking competitions! – and it was all so dangerously _domestic_ that he didn't want to think about it. He didn't even want to stop and see what was going on. For the first time in his life, Tony was managing to trust an Alpha and maybe – _maybe_ – even something more. For the first time in his life Tony was starting to feel okay in his sub-genre.

He believed that if he thought about it, if he gave all this a real and tangible dimension, it would be too risky. Things like that – so beautiful and perfect in their artlessness – aren't made to last. Sooner or later they end. So isn't it better to relegate them to the dreamlike dimension? Sure, when you wake up from a beautiful dream you are unhappy, but only for a little while. Because after all you can tell yourself: it was just a dream.

*

Unavoidably, something snapped between them and neither of them managed to stem the consequences. Or maybe neither of them wanted to. The fact is: they let everything flow by itself.

They knew the team was watching them carefully and they didn't care. Well sure, it was a little annoying when Clint hurled jokes at them and Natasha muttered in tune, both of them ending up giggling and elbowing; Tony started calling them ‘Statler and Waldorf’, a reference that Steve had finally picked up only after watching _The Muppets Show_. It also was a little awkward when Thor, with his usual candor, came up with explicit _questions_ , and Bruce – bless him – taken by to second-hand embarrassment, tried in vain to divert the conversation; but Tony, well, he was _Tony_ , so he was too delighted to prank Thor by telling him the most colossal bullshit about their alleged bonded life or whatever, just to hear his quaint comments.

But after all, when they were out of the team dynamics, it was entirely different. They could laugh and joke indulging in camaraderie, but then they were the only ones left to deal all with of this _thing_. A thing that belonged to them, and only them.

It belonged to them that sort of hesitant dance in which they fell at the end of each mission. It belonged to them the exchange of phrases that sounded less and less like a ‘sort-of-flirting-but-just-for-fun-and-stress-relief’, and were becoming more and more a ‘oh-fuck-we-are-actually-flirting’. It belonged to them the sublte shift from the exchange of words to the exchange of act.

Because words were no longer enough. So, without making too much resistance, they were finding themselves responding to each other's call. In a world where everything was regulated by the smell and the language through it, society had chosen to repress that resource, and the two of them were not in a position to change the rules. But in that dance they had chosen to make their own rules.

Rule number one: while they spoke, there could be no more than a foot between them. Really, more than a foot and they felt there was something inherently _wrong_. They wandered around each other, trying hard not to be too obvious, ignoring the urge to look, to nose, to touch. From the outside it had to be ridiculous, if not downright obvious. Suggestions had come to ‘find a room’ – Steve just blushed, while Tony's response was usually a middle finger, and he really didn't have the nerve to scold him.

Rule two: Tony’s inner Omega had expectations, even if he didn't know them either. But Steve had been an Omega, and he had never appreciated this tactical advantage as much as he does now. For example, if Tony was walking in front of him, Steve knew he expected him to put his hand in the middle of his back; and each time Tony slowed his pace and let himself go against his hand with an little sigh. Steve did this, as well as opened doors for him and gave way when they entered a room – and sometimes he had to refrain himself to move Tony’s chair for him. And all this Tony didn't _know_ he was expecting, yet it was so, so every time that sigh came. And sometimes, oh, sometimes Tony turned for the sole purpose of smiling at him with a soft but full smile. So, even if Clint destroyed the moment starting to clash _C_ _an you feel the love tonight_ , for Steve there was nothing but that smile.

Role three: when one of them happened to be injured in battle, the other become their keeper until they were safe again. Coincidentally, the team had quickly assimilated that rule – the only situation in which nobody ventured to make jokes. And Steve was deeply proud to say that, no, he had nothing to do with it. Sure, he was scary on the battlefield, as only a super-Alpha in combat setup can be, even more so when a team-mate was injured. If the one who ended up on the ground was Tony, Steve snapped in half-feral mode: the air become thick with _anger_ and _defense_ , and no one dared to approach, nobody wanted to earn a warning snarl with bared fangs. 

So yes, Steve was really scary. But everyone expected it, didn't they? While Tony – well, nobody was prepared for _Tony's_ reaction. Not even Steve. So, with a bit of astonishment, it turned out that even an Omega could be frightening when he wanted. Especially if it was covered with a lethal armor capable of making scorched earth around them within a radius of a few miles.

“Tony?” Ventured Steve, trying to get off the ground, “It's just the rescue team. S.H.I.E.L.D., remember?”

“Yup?” Tony didn’t seem willing of lowering his arms, holding them under his blaster, “No, I mean, I don't know them, do I? Get off the helmets, would you?”

“We're in the fire zone.” He pointed out, but Tony ignored him.

“Get off your helmets.” He chanted, “Chop chop!”

Slowly, the soldiers took off their helmets to show their faces. Steve watched Iron Man's head move to probe the group: surely Tony was asking J.A.R.V.I.S. to scan them from hairs to toes.

“Great. Fantastic.”

His pose relaxed slightly and he stepped aside to make room for them, but did not lower his arms, “You can get closer.” He accorded and the rescue team moved quickly, Tony stiffened again, “Maybe slowly? Very well.”

He stood by while they was taking care of Steve. He didn’t noticed himself purring until Iron Man turned to face him, his helmet tilted in a questioning pose.

“Are you trying to _soothe_ me?”

Steve felt his cheeks heating up: “Maybe?”

Around them the rescue team was _very_ quiet, everyone avoiding to look at them directly. Tony waited for them to finish and then dismissed them, saying that he would take care of the Captain from then on. As soon as they were at a safe distance, Tony lifted the face plate and inhaled deeply, watching Steve closely. Then held out his hand to help him get up and put an arm around his waist, giving him support to stand up.

“How are you?”

Tony looked at him uneasily: “I should be the one asking.”

“I've been better.” He shrugged, “Tomorrow I will be brand new.”

They limped in the heavy air filled of debris and gunpowder. The Quinjet was not far away, the others were waiting for them.

“I don’t know.” Tony suddenly admitted, staring straight ahead.

Faced with that spontaneous confession, Steve didn’t know what to say. His inner Alpha stepped forward and replied in his place, resuming his purr again. Tony shot him a puzzled look, an adorable blush that made its way up his cheeks.

“Sorry.” Steve cleared his throat, trying to push the sound back, “I can't help it.”

“Then let it be.”

And Steve did.

It was often like this between them, and more and more it would have been like this in the future.

In a not too distant future, for example, Steve would run into a ghost from his past, and he would almost die at the hands of that ghost. Engaged elsewhere, Tony wouldn’t have been there to guard him, thus finding himself breaking that now proven rule. The consequences would have been unpredictable and to soothe the Omega it wouldn’t have been enough just a purr.


	4. Chapter 4

_When the night has come_

_And the land is dark_

_And the moon is the only light we'll see_

_No I won't be afraid_

_Oh I won't be afraid_

_Just as long as you stand_

_Stand by me_

[ Ben E.  ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hwZNL7QVJjE) [ King – ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hwZNL7QVJjE) [ Stand By Me ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hwZNL7QVJjE)

*

When Tony turned five, Howard judged him old enough to say goodbye to the nanny he grew up with, and replaced her with a governess chosen specifically by him. Obviously she was an Alpha.

Tony began to nest in his closet – the first glimpse of what his future sub-genre was. But his ex-nanny was an Omega and Howard blamed her for teaching these ‘weak-kneed practices’ that were ‘misleading Tony’, so his behavior only reinforced Howard’s belief that his son needed healthy straightened. The quarrels between his parents also began and Tony increasingly took refuge in the closet, under a pile of blankets and clothes, crying in silence.

So it went until Maria had enough and took control of the situation. She fired the Alpha governess, hiring instead a Beta. A man with completely different attitude: Edwin Jarvis. Howard wasn’t satisfied at all, but faced with his wife's resolution for once he took a step back and just watched. In a few days Tony stopped nesting in the closet. Faced with the obvious, Howard surrendered and Maria was able to breathe a sigh of relief: this time they had come out.

At the age of forty-three Tony no longer had to settle for a closet, but we know that a part of him still felt the need to hide. And since he was an engineer and a billionaire and ‘go big or go home his my motto’, in the Tower he had a nest-room all to himself, just like the one he had had in his Malibu house. It was his clandestine refuge, designed by himself to meet all his needs. Whether he was in heat or just needed a place to feel safe, it was perfect and equipped with every comfort. But above all it was _his_ and _only his_.

Nobody had ever set foot there, not even the cleaners. Being his sub-genre a secret, Tony had included that particular romm in the Tower project making sure that no one knew about it. It had been built by his robots and they always managed it.

He called it ‘Room of Requirements’.

“‘Cause, you know, calling it ‘Chamber of Secrets’ would have been too obvious.”

Steve looked lost as he nodded silently and followed him. Tony shook his head in disbelief: they had a marathon of all _Harry Potter_ ’s movies between Thanksgiving and New Year Eve, he _had_ to catch that quote.

Tony let him into the bedroom and did not stop to reflect on the fact that many people had been in his bedroom, but never an Alpha. No Alpha ever entered and the first was Steve. Steve Rogers. Steve was walking into his bedroom and Tony was getting obsessed with the meaning of it – and they hadn't even gotten to the most intimate part of the situation. He couldn't stop thinking about it or everything would be derailed and he didn't want to derail. He could not afford it.

He led it to the closet and opened the door.

“Watch your head, big boy.” Warned him by moving his clothes and talking in a burst, “Yes, I know, it says a lot that I chose a _closet_.”

He felt Steve's eyes on him as he lowered the wooden plaque on the bottom exposing the voice detector.

“Although, I must confess,” He said in a deliberately casual tone, “I was almost about to call it ‘Narnia’.”

Tony cocked a smile in Steve directions and waggled his eyebrows. He looked at him in confusion.

“Eh, nevermind. Another marathon, I suppose.”

The entire bottom wall of the closet moved to the side, and Tony took a step forward.

*

_A few hours earlier._

“Can you keep a secret?” He told him, with sparkling eyes and his lower lip clenched between his teeth. And Steve knew very well that when Tony had that attitude, he would never be able to deny him anything. Less than he could have done now.

He had woken up in a bed in the Tower’s sickbay, never as grateful at that moment as he ended up there. He had breathed deeply the reassuring air, inhaling along with the smell of disinfectant also a familiar citrus and cinnamon smell, tinged with tiredness.

Following his nose, Steve had turned his head on the pillow. Tony was curled up on a small armchair next to him, an tablet abandoned in his hands. He was visibly exhausted, with stubbles messing up his otherwise perfect goatee, and hair that had seen better times. It was gorgeous, Steve thought with a heartache. He would have happily stay there, simply admiring him for an indefinite time. After the experience of the last few days there was nothing more comforting than being allowed to bask in the presence of an Omega worried about him – in the presence of _Tony_ worried about him.

Eventually, the Omega woke up with a start, invoking caffeine and scratching his head, unaware of the fact that Steve was awake and was looking at him with dumb sweetness. Steve hadn't called him back when he left the room, mumbling and slamming around like a drunk puppy. However, he reappeared shortly after with two steaming cups in his hands, and he had given one to Steve. As if it had been the most natural thing in the world, as if it were a normal morning meeting by chance in Tower’s kitchen, sharing breakfast and grunting their shared disapproval of waking up.

After the third sip of coffee, Steve had seen him blink and focus.

“Hello there, Sleeping Beauty.”

“Good morning.” He replied politely.

Tony took another sip and looked at him critically. Citrus, cinnamon and, in perfect synchrony with the relaxing of his body, _relief_.

“How come I always find you here?” He scolded him, “Didn’t you get pumped with serum in order to get out of of doctors’ clutches?”

Steve had shrugged: “You know me, I'm a nostalgic old man.”

“Oh, he's nostalgic!” He had mocked him, “They found you on the bank of the Potomac. You were more drowned than alive, _Laura Palmer_.”

“For God’s sake _no_!” Steve interrupted him immediately, “Don't you dare to quote _Twin Peaks_. I don't want heard anything about that Lynch guy.”

“I quote what I want.” Tony replied with petulance, “But you’re lucky I’m still in anxiety mode, so for now I will respect your requests, Captain.”

And it wasn’t like Steve was taking advantage of it – or maybe it was? A little? Okay, he _had_ taken advantage of it. But, hey, it wasn't every day routine that someone actively cared about him. He was Captain America: everyone took it for granted that someone like him didn't need anything or anyone. So big, so strong, ever in charge.

It wasn’t like this – _he_ wasn’t like this, not in the way people thought. But clearly it wasn’t so obvious. And Steve didn't know if Tony understood it, or if he was acting like that because his inner Omega needed to take care of Steve to feel okay. But frankly Steve didn’t give a damn about the reasons: he just felt so good and for once he only wanted to enjoy the feeling.

From there to find himself in front of Tony's nest-room, the step had been surprisingly short. Tony had mumbled something about the need to nest for at least forty-eight hours to recover from the fright Steve gave him. And Steve's comment about he missed that part of being Omega, well, he said that light hearted, really. But as usual, Tony had caught it his way.

“Can you keep a secret?”

Yes, Steve knew how to keep a secret. It was certainly not the hardest part of the matter. The hardest part was waking up with an Omega at the bedside and absorbing all his concern for you. To think that it’s beautiful and that it can’t be better. Then to find himself at the door of his nest-room.

And he inside it, waiting you – waiting _just_ _you_.

In a society where each sub-genre has a defined role and the interactions between them are predetermined, how should be taken an Omega who invites you to nest with him outside the heat?

“Tony, are- are you sure?”

He had looked at him without understand, and Steve moved nervously in the nest-room doorway.

“You never wanted Alpha in the way.” He said softly, insecure.

Tony's gaze softened.

“Maybe I want this Alpha in the way.” He held out his hand, “Have you thought about it?”

Steve had thought about it, he couldn't lie to himself. But it had been easier to repress that thought. It had been easier to label it under the ‘demanding sub-genre’ voice than to think they liked each other for who they were.

*

If two years earlier someone had told Tony that he would find himself nesting with an Alpha, he would have seriously doubted the person's sanity. But here he was, arranging pillows and blankets with an Alpha – and _enjoying_ it.

Tony had been doing this on his own since he was five – a lifetime – and had never felt the need to do it with anyone. He knew that many Omegas were happy to nest with other Omegas, or their Alpha – or anyone who lends themselves for the occasion. Omegas were basically the gregarious part of the dynamics, the glue between the sub-genres. But Tony had never had the privilege of being able to express this side of his sub-genre.

Steve asked him to pass him a blanket, the big blue one, and Tony helped him to drape it over the wall of pillows that he had skilfully built. He seemed completely absorbed in the task.

Leather, resin and _quiet_ , soft and enveloping like the blanket. Tony wondered if even his own smell gave off quiet, because honestly he didn't feel completely relaxed in that new and stunningly beautiful thing they were doing. Yet, as he rolled up in a blanket like a human burrito and let himself go on the pillows, he thought that never in his whole life he felt better than now, with an Alpha in his nest-room. For once his brain slowed down a bit – just a little bit, huh – but still enough to appreciate the moment he was living, here and now, and not need anything else.

 _Grrrrwl_...

“Was that your stomach?”

Tony looked up at Steve. Okay, maybe he needed _something_.

“J.A.R.V.I.S. put on a chocolate for two, please.”

“Of course, Mr. Stark.”

Tony watched amused Steve, who was carefully observing the various robotic tools moving out from the walls.

“What taste do you want it?” Asked him, “I have all the aromas on the market and also some still to be patented-”

“Orange and cinnamon.”

Tony closed his jaw with a loud _click_. Steve stared at him from the other side of the nest, with a satisfied smile on that stupidly handsome face.

“J.A.R.V.I.S. you heard Mr. Rogers.” He cleared his throat and casually stretched his legs up to touch Steve's feet, “Orange and cinnamon.”

When a robotic arm served them the steaming cups, the smile on Steve's face opened completely, showing all his teeth. At a safe distance, Tony looked at the fangs made to bite and thought that they were not as frightening on him as they were on Howard – or on any other Alpha he unfortunately runned into. Maybe it was the blue sky of his eyes that sweetened the whole, or maybe it was the chocolate mustache that gave him a childish air. Or maybe – well, maybe it was the fact that Steve, despite being a forge of pheromones and had all the reasons to become non-stop feral, had never done anything to Tony.

With him, Steve had never used his Alpha voice, he had never snap feral, he had never snarled – or worse. As their relationship evolved, Steve had never let his sub-genre prevail.

Tony was looking at him now, and he realize that it no longer mattered that he was an Alpha. Or maybe he did, but it was a whole other kind of matter.

*

“Did they know?”

“About what?”

Steve handed the empty cup to a mechanical arm and sank back into the cushions.

“That it would change your sub-genre.” Tony looked at him with undisguised curiosity, “Did they know that the serum would have this side effect?”

Steve shook his head: “No. They had no idea.”

Tony lowered his eyes, pensive, his thumbnail nervously scratching the rim of the cup.

“It was one of the reasons they closed Project Rebirth.”

He grimace: “No way. Who would have thought it?”

Steve looked at him, sensing his thoughts.

“The possibilities that opened such a thing…” Tony laughed bitterly, “And they threw it away like garbage.”

“It was the forties, Tony.” He pointed out.

“Yeah, well, I guess my father was among those who voted against.” He said with resentment.

“No.” Steve recalled about the events that followed the serum treatment, “Howard lobbied to continue the experimentation, he was one of the few.”

Tony gave him an incredulous look: “Well, that’s a new! He used to went on with bigoted speeches about the fate marked by one’s sub-genre and other bullshit like that.”

“But he was also devoted to science, wasn't he?” Steve pointed out, “Maybe… I dunno, maybe he thought that the important thing was to act according to nature, but if science could _change_ nature-”

“Ah!” Tony's eyes widened in amazement at the realization, “Do you know how many years he spent looking for you in the damn ice? He didn't just want to find you, he wanted to find the only thing left of that experiment and start from there.”

“You think?” Steve frowned, “Do you believe he wanted to carry on the research in that sense?”

“I think my father was a genius and a visionary and also a little insane.” He summed up, “We will never know what he had in mind, but yes, it could be that.”

Steve told himself that it had been lucky then that he had not found it.

“Would you have used it?” He asked before he could stop himself.

Tony's gaze planted on his and remained there, conscious.

“Yes.” He said, but it sounded uncertain.

“I don't know.” He added flickering his gaze, “Maybe?”

“You always hated your sub-genre.” He commented cautiously.

“No.” He shrugged, and this time he sounded more confident, “It's not being Omega per se. It’s… all that revolves around us.” He gestured vaguely, “Come on, don't tell me you liked it. Back in your day it was even worse.”

“It was a hell.” He nodded, “For someone like me, if nothing else. But today it is different, especially for someone like you.”

Tony gave him a side glance and snorted.

“Well, sure if I made a press conference to reveal my true sub-genre and announce that I'm looking for a mate, in half an hour I'd have the line going around the block. But you know,” He closed humming ,“ _M_ _oney can't buy me love_ …”

Steve frowned: “I'm not talking about money.”

He gained a clearly confused expression.

“You are the one who was comparing me and your pre-serum version of penniless art student from the New York lower class burdened by the Great Depression.”

Oh man, how could he always understand the opposite of what Steve meant? How he could end up to a ferocious self deprecation _every time_? Did he really think that the only reason someone would want a relationship with him was because of his financial empire?

“My comparison was between you and my pre-serum version of rachitic, asthmatic, hypertensive, anemic, and in general suffering from chronic diseases Omega. I was certainly not as desirable as Omega. While _y_ _ou_ are a whole other level.”

Tony's eyebrows shot up.

“A… whole other level.” He repeated slowly, “And what exactly do you mean by ‘a whole other level’, Mr. Rogers?”

Steve felt his face heat hup, but did not hold back.

“Ridiculously gorgeous.”

Tony opened and closed his mouth like a fish out of water.

“Thank you?” Mumbled, “I mean, I’m certainly not the epitome of the Omega. In fact, that’s why I can easily pass for a Beta. I'm far from society's aesthetic dictates.”

Steve wanted to reply that, in his humble sight, his ass fit perfectly into the aesthetic dictates. But he wisely thought it was not the time to make lewd comments about his body.

“Fuck society.” He snapped, “You are beautiful and that's it.”

Shocked, Tony recessed himself between the cushions, as if the compliment had hit him in the face.

“Okay.” He said in a small voice.

“You're beautiful. And you're the smartest person I've ever met… damn, Tony, you're a _genius_. And you're funny and caring and brave.” Steve listed without pausing.

As he tried to object, Tony’s face showed a slew of different emotions

“I... I mean, thank you, but…”

“None ‘but’.” He stopped him, “To have a hypertrophic ego, you don't really know how to take compliments.”

Tony fell silent, red in the face. Orange, cinnamon and _sweet disbelief_.

*

Nobody, nobody, _nobody_ had ever flattered Tony like that. Nobody had bothered to tell him honestly what he thought of him – except when there was to be criticized, of course. Tony was so used to feeling lashed by the whip of deprecation, that he had assimilated it and made it his own. Well, it hurts less if you hardened your skin under your own blows. Nobody was as good as Tony to hurt himself.

What remained between Tony's armor and his heart, that seemingly unbridgeable void, he had tried to fill it in many ways. With success, with money, with sex, with alcohol. But they had always been ephemeral, temporary fillers.

Opening a passage under that armor, so apparently harmless, and making his way, one drop at a time, filling the void until the pressure created dangerous cracks on the whole surface. This had done Steve from the beginning. Tony didn't know if he was aware of it or not, but he would have bet no. The fact is that now the armor was hopelessly cracked and it would have taken little – very little – to completely collapse.

But what was he without his armor?

Tony became fully aware of it in Johannesburg, when the little witch from Sokovia had started playing with their minds. The terror inflicted by those hallucinations peaked at the sight of the Captain America's broken shield, of Steve dying under his eyes, and Tony burdened by total impotence.

Tony knew he wasn't acting lucidly, but there was no way to break that chain. Attack or escape? He had chosen attack. He had to defend himself and the people he loved: it was his responsibility. It didn't matter if Ultron's disaster was born out exactly of this, out of his control craze and his fear of seeing the people he loves die – Tony wouldn't stop at anything to save everyone.

Not even in the face of his relationship with Steve. And somehow they found themselves in the Barton courtyard, chopping wood and fighting. The discussion warmed up quickly and, honestly, that was probably good. Ever since all the Ultron’s thing began, the two of them had kept their distance, controlling each drive so as not to negatively affect the dynamics of the team. It hadn't been easy at all, and now the tension between them was boiling up.

“You know Ultron is trying to tear us apart, right?”

“Well I guess you'd know.” Steve said coldly, “Whether you tell us is a bit of a question.”

“Banner and I were doing research.” He tried to justify himself.

“That would affect the team.” Steve replied.

“That would _end_ the team.” Tony corrected him, “Isn't that the mission? Isn't that the ‘why’ we fight, so we can _end_ the fight, so we get to go home?”

Leather, resin and a sudden spurt of _fury_. As he broke a log with his bare hands, Steve's eyes flashed red and Tony froze on the spot.

“Every time someone tries to win a war before it starts, innocent people die.” Steve growled, “ _Every time_.”

Then Mrs. Barton came to ask him to take a look at the tractor. Tony leave Steve and followed her knowing that the tension between them was far from subsided. But he can’t do more than that, he just can’t. They were acting again as a human shield between the Earth and a threat of apocalyptic proportions, and this time its all Tony’s fault. He held himself up with nails and teeth, in constant struggle to keep up with himself, and now also in struggle to keep up with the very person he was falling in love with.

Later that evening, while the kitchen was crowded and loud inside, Tony saw Steve heading for the porch. He slipped out too. The nigh was clear and nice, with the crickets singing and the stars so evident without the air pollution. But Tony wasn’t there to enjoy the bucolic atmosphere.

He took a deep breath in the cool evening air.

“Thank you.”

Steve turned to look at him with a confused air.

“Even if you don’t agree with me, you never tried to stop me.”

Steve snorted: “We both know you can't be stopped.”

Jesus, how could he be so naïve? Tony had to look away or he would have betrayed himself.

“We both know you could if you want.”

Steve was silent. Tony slided into a rocking chair. He felt his stern gaze on him.

“Do you have such a low opinion of me?”

His voice was cold, but a note of sadness was in his smell. It crept through the cracks in Tony's armor and came straight to his heart and it _hurt_ _ed_.

“Steve.” He sighed, finally looking up at him.

Running out of words, the only thing Tony could do was let his smell speak for him. Steve sniffed the air and simply nodded, his face a mask that betrayed no emotion.

*

It wasn't a noise that woke up Steve. Although thanks to the serum his hearing was very fine and because of his war experience he always kept a light sleep, what woke him up was the _smell_.

Orange, cinnamon and an immense, penetrating surge of _desperation_.

He sat on the bed, perfectly alert, and let himself be guided by his primarily senses. He found himself crouched at the foot of Tony's bed, his throat dry and his eyes burning with tears. It had been a long time since he last felt all this desperation, and now he had the feeling of drowning in it.

“Tony?” He called softly.

The Omega moved a little under the covers. Steve guessed that he was curled in fetal position and his heart ached. Tony was silent while crying. Steve didn’t grasp how he managed to control himself in his sleep but it was so and it hurt to see him – to _feel_ him – like that.

He cautiously reached out and placed a hand over his shoulder. He did not know if it was a good thing to wake him up, but he couldn't stand to just look and do nothing.

“Tony, it's just a nightmare… just-”

Suddenly the covers moved away and Tony sat up, legs gathered in his chest, head bowed on his knees, shoulders shaken by sobs. He looked like a child. Steve stood there, still and silent, while he tried and failed miserably to calm himself, sniffing and stammering meaningless sentences.

“Tony.” Steve tried to touch him again, but this time the Omega jerked away.

“No no no no… Alpha, I'll be good, I promise, I'll be good... don't hold me down, I'll be good... see? I'm good, aren’t I? Don't hold me down, don’t hold me down, don’t hold me down…”

The litany went on and on, and Steve's heart sank. Who had been doing this to him? The answer was obvious, but Steve couldn't focus on Howard Stark's faults. He was dead, while Tony was alive and still carrying the wounds of that unhealthy education.

“Tony, it's all right. It was just a bad dream.” He murmured softly, “Can I stay here? Just in case you need me, okay? I’ll not touch you. Just here.”

Steve settled himself better on the floor, his arms crossed on the bed and his chin resting on it. And he resume to wait, trying to project _calm_ and _safety_ into his smell.

The litany of heartbreaking pleads ceased slowly, accompanied by sobs and light whine. Tony was calming down, his conscience re-emerging from the nightmare’s twists, but the process was long and painful. Steve's inner Alpha was pawing, but he kept it at bay: he wished he could have done more, but he knew that any move would only cause Tony to panic.

Patience paid off when, mixed with despair, a hint of _reliance_ made its way into Tony's smell.

“Alpha?”

Steve straightened up immediately. That was the first time Tony had called him that without joking, the first time he had really called him as an Alpha, who needed him in _that_ sense. Carefully without touching him, he leaned over the bed.

“I'm here.” He said, and only hearing his own voice he realized that he was purring, “I'm here, Omega.”

Tony held out a hand and Steve took it and they simply stayed like this for a long moment. Steve purring and stroking his palm with his thumb, Tony trying to regain a normal breath and relaxing his tensed muscles.

“More.” He said suddenly, stretching out on his side and extending his other hand towards Steve.

Without hesitation, he took both Tony’s hands, and they folded their arms together on the bed. Their faces were inches apart, and in the dim light Steve could see Tony's dark eyelashes thickened with tears, his forehead still frowning in anguish. But in his smell there was less and less _despair_ and more and more _confidence_ and _peace_.

Steve untie a hand from their clutch and bring it to Tony’s forehead, kneading between his eyebrows. Tony closed his eyes and started to purr, and Steve smiled with relief and wonder. It had never happened before, even when they had nested together.

“More.”

Tony's voice was slurred with sleep and at that moment Steve wasn't sure how to take that request. He did not know if he was interpreting well or if he was letting himself be guided by his inner Alpha, already widely stimulated.

“More?” He asked, hoping to receive a clear answer.

With his eyes still closed, Tony moves clumsy and lifted one edge of the blanket, moving aside to making room.

“More.”

Steve swallowed: this was a pretty clear answer.

Afraid to startle him, he slipped slowly under the covers, and tried to settle in the bed without taking too much space with his massive size. Said space didn't have to be a problem for Tony, because a moment later he had cut a perfect corner for himself under Steve’s arm, limbs wrapped over him, and face tucked under his neck. Steve let him settle on him whatever he wanted, unsure if he was allowed to touch him back.

When Tony sighed contentedly and relaxed against him, purring loudly and dropping down into sleep, Steve felt his inner Alpha relax too. He hugged Tony carefully and inhaled his smell: orange, cinnamon and _slumber_. Steve let himself be lulled by the feeling of perfection that that moment radiated, with Tony sleeping confidently in his arms. And for a moment, while falling asleep in turn, he didn’t think about the past or the future, only about that moment and how much he wished it would last forever.


	5. Chapter 5

_I practice every day_

_To find some clever lines to say_

_To make the meaning come through_

_But then I think I'll wait_

_Until the evening gets late_

_And I'm alone with you_

_The time is right, your perfume fills my head_

_The stars get red and, oh, the night's so blue_

_And then I go and spoil it all_

_By saying somethin' stupid like_

_“I love you”_

[ Frank & Nancy Sinatra – Somethin’ Stupid ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0f48fpoSEPU)

*****

Mmmh… Tony had to tell Clint to change the mattress. That bed was far too uncomfortable. Too tight and too warm and too hard. Funny thing: despite all this Tony felt like he just had the best sleep of his life.

Not that he normally slept well.

Not that he normally _slept_. At all.

So maybe he needed an uncomfortable bed to be able to sleep well?

He blinked, trying to focus on his surroundings, to remember where he was – not that it mattered much. Usually his brain went from zero to thousand in matter of seconds, but not today. Today Tony's brain was drowned in endorphins, his soul floating in an unreal quiet. Everything was so far away, nothing seemed to have any weight, not even the impending peril of Ultron. 

He moved his head and his cheek rubbed against cotton cloth smelling of leather and resin and _warm, happy sleepiness_. That smell gave Tony a lazy contentment. A feeling that perhaps he had sometimes felt as a child, when they allowed him to sleep late during the summer holidays.

The palm of his hand slid across a broad chest and over a muscular shoulder, found warm skin that throbbed under his fingers and rested there. Under him resounded a deep, soft approval grumbling. It penetrated in his bones and went straight to his morning wood.

Maybe that wasn't a mattress–

In the silence of the room Tony heard the dull noise of the sheets: the _body_ under him was moving, breathing on his hair. Tony felt a hand wrapping around his, the other slipping under the edge of the t-shirt and spreading in the middle of his back, pressing gently in a gesture he knew so well.

Tony's eyes snapped open wide and he sucked in the air with a full whiff of _thick Alpha_ pheromones. Feeling like a deer caught in the middle of a road, he propped himself up to raise his torso and his pelvis slid back and, _oh my God_ , what he saw on the Steves face matched what he felt at the level of his groin.

_Fuck._

That _wasn't_ a mattress. And that wasn't Steve's usual eye color.

It's known that Alpha's eyes change color according to their mood. Tony had had the misfortune to often see red eyes: first in his father, then in several feral Alpha who had clashed with him. Finally in Steve, every time he went down on the battlefield – and sometimes even during the quarrels between them.

But Tony had never had the privilege of seeing _black_ eyes. And of course he never dared to imagine seeing them in Steve. Because, well, anyone had the basic knowledge of biology to know what that particular shade meant. They taught it in high school. In the chapter about mating rituals and all that stuff.

Hell, Tony was a very experienced man, he had had lovers of all kinds and sub-genres, he had seen everything and _done everything._ But this? Nope.

Tony Stark had never slept with an Alpha, and then woke up with him – _on top_ him, like a little needy clingy Omega – and found him in _that state_.

He had goosebumps all over his skin. He felt the blood drumming in his hears. He could smell his own pheromones giving out very explicit signal. Shit. He felt like a fucking gawky teenager – and he was _never been_ a gawky teenager, not even when he was a _teenager_.

What was he supposed to do? What did an Alpha expect from an Omega in a similar situation? Tony looked at Steve, but he couldn't see just _Steve,_ he saw the _Alpha_ , and he was sure that Steve saw the Omega and Tony didn't know what to do, he had never been with an Alpha, he spent all his life avoiding them–

A growl and Tony came out of the spiral he was falling into.

He breathed again and this time he stopped to look – to _feel._ Leather and resin and _desire,_ yes, but no fangs. Steve's lips were sealed, his breathing was calm. His hands, that anchored Tony to him, were still.

Only then did Tony remember how they ended up sleeping together. He remembered the night before, the nightmare, the panic attack. He remembered Steve, who managed to control his inner Alpha to help Tony without oppressing him. He remembered his own inner Omega asking for _more._

Now it was the Alpha who was asking for more. Yet Steve was still in control, his Alpha hidden just below the skin, contained, harnessed. They both knew that this wasn't the right place nor the right time. They couldn't burn the stages making love there, in the bedroom of Barton's children, during a parenthesis through a mission to save the world.

They could only stay in the moment, that was all it was granted to them. They could stay in those early morning hours, with the light still struggling to warm the air and the wooden walls that seemed to protect them from all the ugliness awaiting them out there. For a few moments, they could only be themselves, suspended in that limbo. Alpha and Omega: so close to the surface that they can really see each other for the first time.

Still but alert, Steve watched attentive as Tony moved forward, bringing them face to face. He moved his hand from his neck to his cheek, stroking the bristly skin of his morning beard. Under his touch, Steve softened his glance and started to purr. Tony bit his lip, watching with fascination this horny super-Alpha tamed with a caress.

Again, the hand in the middle of his back pressed down and Tony let himself be guided placidly. It wasn't exactly unpleasant to spread himself over Steve's body and let him cuddle him, rub his face against his neck, inhale his smell. It wasn't definitely a bad experience look at Steve and let himself be seen in the astonished silence of mutual wonder.

Long minutes passed like this. Between purr and sighs, languid caresses and cautious explorations, bumping noses and gingerly smell. The shadow of a kiss on lips as eager as shy. If they could have extended that moment for eternity, oh, they would have. They would have willingly imprisoned there forever.

But Tony knew, as a matter of fact, that all the good things have to end. They had to save the world, as Steve reminded him. Ugh, such a waste of time... 

*

The effort they had to make to break out from the mist of pheromones and emerge out that bed was unimaginable.

Steve was forced to apply a filter between what he really thought and feel, and what he said or did, because his inner Alpha _really_ didn't want to stop thinking about Tony as _his Omega_ and, well, act accordingly. And if Steve had any doubts that Tony felt different, he had the opportunity to change his mind during breakfast. The not-so-stealthy way in which he buzzed around him, how he managed to touch him constantly making it seem like _accidental_ , how he kept gazing longingly at him with those fawn eyes.

Steve found himself growling in frustration a few times. Across the table, Tony stretched his feet to meet his and hid the satisfaction behind his cup of coffee. In all this, they had to regain some kind of dignity and collect the amused looks and the comrades' comments from their team-mates.

“Did you sleep well?”

With considerable effort, Steve took his eyes off Tony and raised them to Natasha, who was standing next to him, smug as always despite her bed hair and the fluffy pink pajama. He opened his mouth to answer, but was unable to come up with something that made sense, so he just watched her sipping her coffee slyly.

She pushes him with her hip: “Did you slept _at all_?”

Under the table, Tony's bare feet were rubbing against his.

“Did _you_ sleep?” He asked back the Omega.

Bruce almost choked on a piece of toast.

Fury plunged into the kitchen from nowhere: “Hold yourself together, we are not on a school trip.”

“And there are minors here.” Clint added grabbing one of his children who was flying in the kitchen.

They managed to focus on the breakfast and somehow they all recompose and get back on track. Steve was on the patio putting on his helmet, when Tony came there in full armor. He hooked the shield to his back and turned to look at him. He was stunningly beautiful, with the armour shimmering like a halo under the morning sun.

“You know, whatever happened this morning, it was-”

Steve was the one good with speeches and all that kind of things, but right now he didn't have the words to express how he had felt. Waking up with the Omega safe and happy in his arms, feeling him languid with sleep, smelling his desire, hearing his sweet purring. Steve only knew that he wanted more mornings like those, possibly for a lifetime.

He let his own smell speak for himself. Tony sniffed the air between them and let out a sigh.

“Yes.” He said.

He seemed to have more to say than just a "yes", but the team was already waiting for them at the Quinjet, so whatever it was it had to be put aside.

The rest of the mission was a rapid succession of events that dragged them into the usual adrenaline rush. The Maximoffs joined them, Vision came to life, Ultron's droid army clashed to the Earth. Steve didn't have time to really work out what had happened between him and Tony, that they were already on the battlefield.

When the last civilian was evacuated from Sokovia's ruins, Steve jumped on one of the S.H.I.E.L.D.'s shuttles and had to helpless watch the apocalypse unfolding beneath them. Tony was there – _his Omega_ – and he was risking his life to save those of the whole Earth.

It was a constant. How many times Steve had seen him do such things? How many times he will have? How many times he will he have to deal with that feeling of drowning in terror?

Steve realized that he had held his breath only when he released it, moments later, in the air that smelled of blood and debris. He looked up to the sky, narrowing his eyes against the glare of the sun: a flash of red and gold darted through the blue, proud and blazing as always. Relief warmed his chest, but the cold of fear was always anchored deep in his soul.

And Steve knew he would stay there, irrationally, until he had Tony in front of him again, alive and whole. His sweet, spicy scent in the nostrils, and its sarcastic voice in the ears.

Somehow Steve already knew that he would always harbor that frustration, that sense of inadequacy for not being able to protect his Omega. It was an inappropriate weakness for a soldier and an Alpha, but he figured that there was nothing he could do about it. This was the price to pay when you fall in love with a foolish, amazing person like Tony Stark.

Oh God, he _loved_ the man.

*

The umpteenth S.H.I.E.L.D. agent stopped him in the corridors to warn him that Captain America was looking for him. Like Tony need to know it. He already knew it, of course, thank you very much. You couldn't develop a massive crush over a super-soldier without feeling the same imperious drive and – fuck biology – Tony should have expected it, but frankly he didn't believe it could ever be so strong. He could not have imagined it.

It fucking _hurts_. And they weren't even bonded.

It must have been post-battle stress, Tony was reflecting as he reached the sickbay. He felt his metabolism working against the chemical hormones released by the implant – a movie already seen. One more reason to avoid Steve.

Tony found an empty room and closed himself in it, yelling at whoever was within range not to disturb him. Hoping that S.H.I.E.L.D. had evolved past the Stone Age, he rummaged in the drawers searching for the device he needed. He had to hurry and leave that place as soon as possible. Too many people – too many _Alphas_. And what was this S.H.I.E.L.D. thing to hire so many Alphas? It was a fucking mystery. They were impulsive, intrusive knot-heads that pollute with their mephitic pheromones wherever they set foot.

And it was of little importance that at that moment Tony wished with every fiber of his being that a certain impulsive, intrusive not-so-knot-head entered through that door and pollute that room. Possibly, that would also pollute _him._

While Tony finally found the device – obviously in the last drawer left – and was setting it, he heard outside the room some screams, something breaking on the ground, heavy steps.

Every single hair on his body stood in anticipation.

_SLAM_

And here it goes the door, clearly opened with a force disproportionate to what it was: the miserable door of a small room of the sickbay.

Leather, resin and _possessiveness._ Tony swallowed a mouthful of saliva.

“A-alpha?”

Steve blinked his red eyes and took a deep breath.

“Are you hiding from me?” He hissed trough his teeth.

“Yes.” He heard himself say.

Steve growled.

“ _Why?_ ”

Steve hadn't put his Alpha voice into that word, but Tony could feel the effort he was making in refraining from doing so. The same one he put in staying firmly there, at a safe distance from him, with the gear bag hanging from one shoulder and the torn up door handle clutched hard in one hand.

“Because…” Tony sighed and put the device down, unconsciously taking a step forward.

He would have liked to still have the armor on, so as to filter Steve pheromones and be able to think coherently. He owed him an explanation, but he felt like he could barely put together a sentence that made sense.

“Well, I guess there's no kind way to say it, so…” He straightened his shoulders, “I don't want to share this heat with you.”

The door handle fell to the ground with a loud, metallic thud. Steve's expression was unreadable.

“I know you have expectations.” Tony said, pretending a firmness that he just did not feel, “I mean, don't get me wrong, after what happened to the Bartons _I too_ have expectations... But-”

“All right.”

“I don't want... that's not how I want it to happen, okay? Not with a false heat.”

“Tony, it's okay.”

“No, listen.” He began to speak in burst, “I almost destroyed the planet because of my usual control craze. This time it will be horrible. I.e. _more horrible_ than usual. And God only knows as I wish you were with me. It's the first time I want to share my heat with an Alpha, you know? But I just-” Steve's words finally sink into him, “Wait... what?”

“I said it's okay.”

Tony shutted is mouth abruptly. Steve sighed deeply and his shoulders relaxed, the red of his eyes gave way to the usual baby blue. Leather, resin and _relief._

“Was that why you were avoiding me?”

Now his voice was soft, oh, so soft. Tony would have liked to drown in it.

“Can you feel it?” He ran a hand on the left side of his neck and Steve followed the movement with a hungry gaze, “Of course you feel it.”

His mating gland had started throbbing hours ago. It was a miracle that the whole team hadn't noticed it as soon as he set foot outside the armor.

“What do you want me to do?”

The Alpha had stepped aside, Steve had returned to full control.

“Give me a week. Maybe ten days? I don't know.” Tony picked up the device and pressed it on his neck, activating it, “This time I want to bypass the implant. I'm not going burn trough synthetic hormones for days again.”

Steve was watching him closely: “Have you ever done it?”

Tony would never have had enough of that Overprotective Super-Alpha Mood. Which, for someone who rejected the very idea of the existence of the Alphas, was a kind of miracle. A miracle called Steve Rogers.

“Deactivate the hormonal implant by myself, while I'm already starting a stress induced heat?” He said faking his usual wit, “Absolutely not. But if I don't do these things, who would?”

Steve didn't said nothing, but growled softly and stared at him with a look that was probably intended to be reproaching. It had quite another effect on Tony.

“You really don't need anything else?”

They both knew what Tony would need, but with those premises neither of them would have dared to do anything. He put the device back in its drawer and leaned wearily against the wall, rubbing his eyes. He felt drained, he just wanted to curl up in a ball and sleep for days – possibly on Steve's lap.

“I wish I could carry your smell with me.” He murmured, almost speaking to himself.

Steve frowned, looking thoughtful. Then he threw the bag on the ground and opened it, starting to rummage inside. After practically spilling half the content out, he finally seemed to find what he was looking for. Steve was holding a white t-shirt in his hand, the same t-shirt he had worn for the night at the Bartons'. And now, one knee on the ground as if he was proposing to him, he was offering it to Tony.

*

Back in his day, when Steve was nothing more than a skinny, sick Omega that no Alpha would find worthy of a glance, the courtship rules were quite clear and simple. It all started with a gift: an Alpha who wished to court an Omega had to give them something that had their smell on it. If the Omega accepted the gift, it was a clear signal of interest, so the courtship could begin.

Now Steve was there, in a small room of the S.H.I.E.L.D. sickbay, with one knee on the ground and a t-shirt in his hand. With Tony's staring astonished at him.

This was not how he had imagined giving him that gift. But they were doing everything in reverse: Steve had offered him dinner, then Tony had invited him to his den, finally they had slept together.

“I know, it's a little late.” Steve bit down his lips and stared back shyly, “Maybe it's not longer used nowadays.”

Tony's face opened in a downy smile as he approached.

“It's a bit old-fashioned.” He said condescendingly, “But I've just discovered to have a certain taste for dated things.”

He stopped in front of him, looking down with a smug expression.

“You look good on your knees.” He said taking the t-shirt from his hand.

Steve raised his eyebrow, smiling back to him.

“Is there anything else I can do?” He asked gently, without getting up from there.

Tony shook his head: “No, Captain Gentleman. But thank you.”

He bring the t-shirt to his face and take a quick sniff. Steve mouth fell open, uncovering his fangs to bite his lip. Tony chucled and looked at him with mischievously twinkling eyes. 

“You'll be fine?” He asked gotting to his feet.

Tony shrugged: "I'll make it, as always.”

It was not enough – it would _never_ be enough, from now on. Leaving him meant doing a real violence to himself for Steve, but Tony was right: they couldn't share their first heat together like this. To make such a step, an Omega must feel safe not only with the Alpha but also with himself. And Tony wasn't feel like safe, Tony didn't want that heat, as he had never wanted the previous ones, even more if they were triggered by stress. Steve could understand it: he too had been an Omega, he knew what it meant to be submitted to a tyrannical biology.

Steve picked up the bag from the ground and mentally prepared to leave.

“All right.” He forced himself to say, “Take care of yourself, Tony.”

Because it was the right thing to say.

Tony was right. Tony was right. _Tony was right._

He was about to leave the room when he heard him speak. Nothing more than a whisper, as if he were afraid of being heard.

“I'd bare my neck to you, but I'm not…”

Steve clenched his jaw and groaned.

“…sure…”

He turned back to him.

“...how it could …”

“Hell!” Steve snarled, and the bag fell to the ground again.

“…end up.”

Two strides and he was back to the Omega, _on_ the Omega. Tony's face in his hands, his lips on his.

Citrus fruits, cinnamon and _hope_ , so much hope, and _love, love, LOVE, take me, claim me, bond me, love me..._

Tony's mouth gave way immediately and their tongues met, ravenous and possessive. Tony's arms wrapped around his neck, his hands sank into Steve's hair pulling him closely. Steve pushed him against the first available shelf, lifting him effortlessly and sitting him on it. Tony's smell reared up with _lust_ , so sweet and intoxicating that Steve had to break the kiss and shove his face under his jaw, breathing hard in his neck.

“Steve…” Panted Tony.

He felt his hand grabbing a lock of hair and tug.

“ _Alpha_.”

With a snarl, Steve pull away from his neck. Tony snarled back and gave him a kiss that felt more like a bite. For a brief, breathless moment, they looked at at each other in wonder. Then, their mouths clashed, chasing each other with kisses and bites and licks.

What a strange, beautiful dance. No need to think, that too was part of the courtship. Challenge each other, test the limits, take measures of that new, wonderful thing that was being born.

After a bolder bite, Steve grabbed Tony's chin and snarled at him with bare fangs. Far away from being scared, the Omega open his lips and slowly licked them. Steve's growl subsided into a rumbling of pure interest, his grip relaxed around Tony's face. The Omega moaned and looked at him between his thick lashes, his mouth parted, so soft and eliciting.

Steve had to take a deep breath.

 _I love you_. – he wanted to say.

“I should go.” He said instead.

He cleared his throat, trying to lift his voice from the depth where had fallen.

“I should go.” He iterated, forcing himself to step away from him.

His hand slid away and Tony shivered.

“You should.”

How he managed to seem so innocent yet luscious as he keep staring hungrily at him? Steve allowed himself to kiss him again, this time with all the self-control he could put.

“Mmh…” Tony parted from him with a wet sound, “Go away. Shoo. Get out of here.”

He pushed him away. With the hands. With his eyes he was attracting him like mermaids attracts sailors to their sweet death. Steve rested his forehead on his and closed his eyes, inhaled one last time his sweet pre-hest smell.

“Go away, please.” He heard him whisper, pleading.

Again, Steve swallowed back his Alpha's urges and fulfilled his request. Backpedaling one step at a time, without being able to stop looking at him, he moved away. Their arms stretched to the impossible in order to prolong that last contact. Finally he picked up the bag and left the room, leaving his Omega alone – for the last time, he swore to himself.


	6. Chapter 6

_ Pardon the way that I stare _

_ There's nothin' else to compare _

_ The sight of you leaves me weak _

_ There are no words left to speak _

_ But if you feel like I feel _

_ Please let me know that it's real _

_ You're just too good to be true _

_ Can't take my eyes off of you _

[ Frankie Vallie and The Four Seasons – Can't Take My Eyes Off Of You ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iObGpqXKBdY)

*

When Tony emerged from the heat trance, the windows in the den were darkened and the lights were dimmed, exactly as he wanted. But that only contributed to his confusion.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y.” A thick voice, which hardly recognized as his own, rose from the blankets in which he was buried, “How many days?”

“Less than thirty-six hours have passed since the start of your heat, Mr. Stark.”

Tony buried his face in the pillows and stifled a scream of frustration. Not even two days and he was already on the verge of madness.

With a broken moan he slipped out the dildo he had used during the last round and rolled on his stomach, one arm covering his eyes. What was the point of having an Alpha if you couldn't use him when you needed him most? Rationally he knew that had been the best decision, but now Tony was anything but rational and his inner Omega couldn't help but resent Steve. His Alpha was not there to take care of him, he had left him alone... how dared he?!

“F.R.I.D.A.Y. call Mr. Rogers.”

“I am sorry Mr. Stark, but you have set up my schedule to prevent me from carrying out this specific order.”

A growl of pure disappointment emerged from Tony's throat.

“Call Happy and tell him to call Rogers and... uh... tell him to call me back. Or something.”

“You set my schedule to prevent me from carrying out-”

“...This specific order too.” Tony mocked the A.I.

Which wasn’t very honest from him. Nor it was, in any shape, mature.

He mumbled some insults against himself and his eternal control freakness, then he felt a shiver running through him from head to toe. A new heat-wave was surging. Great. Tony tucked a blanket between his thighs to catch the slick and gritted into the cramps.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y. where… where’s the…” He grumbled snapping the fingers, “the... fuck!”

He pressed his palms into his orbits. If only he could think straight. That was the thing he hated most about the heat, even more than the pain and the grossness. His brain – his brilliant, unmatched brain – becomes  _ useless _ .

A mechanical arm moved with a  _ ‘wirr’ _ , and Tony fumbled blindly until he found and grabbed what it was handing him. He squeezed the fabric in his hands and brought it to his face, inhaling hard the familiar smell of leather and resin. Or what was left of it. After so many hours, Tony's smell had soaked everything and the shirt smelled less and less of Steve.

_ His Alpha _ .

In a rare moment of lucidity, Tony latched onto that thought and found himself in disbelief. There was an Alpha out there for him. On the surface he seemed straight out of a low-grade novel, but in reality he undermined any sub-genre stereotype. He was just perfect and he wanted him –  _ he wanted him _ .

Tony thought about everything that had happened between them, from the moment they met on the Helicarrier on the edge of a pangalactic war, to that moment they shared in that little room of the S.H.I.E.L.D.’s sickbay. And his erection flickered over the tense muscles of his abdomen. The courtship was a pro-forma: Steve had already won him.

*

“Ground control to Captain Rogers. You with me, bud?”

Steve roused himself from his thoughts and looked at Sam as if he were surprised to be there, loitering under the sunlight of Central Park.

“Sorry.”

He closed the sketchbook. He hadn't been able to draw anything, whatever came to mind was Tony and only Tony, and always in inappropriate situations.

“Were you saying?”

“Nothing.” Sam shrugged, “Just about Nat’s birthday.”

He frowned. Since when was he so absent-minded?

Sam was looking at him with tha twitty expression of him.

“He really fucked up your brain.”

“Oh.” Steve felt himself blushing, “Is it so obvious?2

“Dude, it's obvious to anyone from  _ ages _ .” He said getting up from the lawn, “What are you waiting for?”

Steve stood up and put away the drawing material into his bag.

“It's not so easy.” He said without looking at him.

And it really wasn't, even though Sam didn't know all the implications of their situation.

“Steve.” He sighed wearily, “You two are flirting badly from… Geez, from before we knew each other, that's for sure.”

Steve didn't even try to deny it. It would have been ridiculous.

“Then let me give you some advice. Alpha to Alpha, mh?” Sam raised his eyebrows and stood in front of him, “With Riley it took me years. Literally. And when I finally made up my mind to make a move, well… you know happened.”

Sam's scent mottled with  _ sorrow _ and Steve opened his mouth looking for something to say,  _ anything _ . But nothing else came out of his throat but a low rumbling of comfort. Sam met it with a brief growl of acceptance and that was it. Between Alphas no more than this was allowed.

“Also” He added, “I bet fifty bucks that you two make a move before the end of the year.”

Steve appreciated his effort to lighten the mood.

“So Nat thinks it'll take me more than six months?” he retorted, “This hurts me! I don't think I'll make her any birthday gifts.”

“Nat thinks you'll  _ never _ make up your mind.” Sam pointed out, “And you do what you want, but to someone who calls herself Black Widow and dates the Hulk you can bet your ass that I'll make a gift!”

*

Everyone knew that Natasha was born on June 12. No one knew which year, not even Nick. Clint had hinted that he  _ knew _ , but that he had to keep his mouth shut for his own sake. This didn’t prevent Tony from risking his life every year, teasing the birthday girl in every way in a vain attempt to extort her true age.

“I could... but it's just a speculation, huh... I could collect a DNA sample and analyze the rate of decay of the genome.” He was explaining to Bruce, loud enough for her to hear, “In theory, I could go back to her age.”

“But you should compare the data with a previously collected genome sample.” Bruce objected. “I think a one-year interval would be enough.”

“Perfect, Brucie-bear!” Tony patted him on the shoulder, “Now we just have to collect the samples.”

“Ah, good luck.” He raised his drink and smiled at him.

Tony pouted: “You can’t quit me like this!”

Natasha's soft voice reached him: “Oh, hi Steve!”

Tony turned his head in the direction of the entrance so quickly that he was sure he had gotten a muscle tear in his neck. The whole room resounded with muffled giggles.

“Very mature.” He hissed between his teeth.

He pinched her side while heading for the kitchen. Natasha let out a yelp and jumped to the side, still laughing.

“Stay away from me if you don't want a body-fluid-free cocktail!” He barked closing the kitchen door, seeking refuge there.

“Ugh… gross!” Rhodey's voice answered.

Tony snorted.

“As if you didn’t do worse in college.” He said, putting some ingredients in the blender, “I have  _ tapes _ .”

Then he turned on it, covering any reply with the noise. Keeping it on for a while, well past what was needed. When he turned it off, Tony closed his eyes and just stood there for a moment, allowing himself some quiet. The voices came muffled and mixed up, he could not catch any speech. In the kitchen, alone, his brain could stop and rest. He didn't have to prove anything, he didn't have to play any persona.

He didn’t have to play Anthony Edward Stark, billionaire-genius-playboy-philanthropist-whatever. Those people were his friends, he loved them, yet he wasn't able to get out of his character even with them.

Tony took off the blender lid and licked it, then poured the cocktail into the glasses. What remained attached to the sides, he picked up with a finger.

“Hey.”

Tony froze with his finger in midair.

“Hey.” He  _ sighed _ , “How did you…”

He turned and here’s Steve, looking at him from across the room and Tony choked in his own saliva.

“…entered?”

_ Holy shit _ , alright, that was a hundred percent stars and stripes piece of beef, pumped with serum to the core, but how come Tony felt so  _ stupid _ and all hot just because he was staring at him?

Was it his smell? The days away? His fucking hormones fresh from the heat?

“There’s a back door.” Steve said as he approached, “Didn't you ever notice?”

“Actually, I was the one who put that back door into the project.” He took a step back and bumped into the kitchen counter, “But I put a lot of things in the Tower project, I can’t remember them all.”

Steve was a foot from him and on the other side of the door Tony could no longer hear the indistinct chatter of before. He was sure they were all trying to eavesdrop.

“Your cocktail is leaking.” Steve nodded towards his hand.

Tony looked at his still smeared finger and had a déjà-vu of their meeting in Central Park three years ago. But before he could even think about taking a rag to wipe himself, Steve had gently grabbed his wrist and put his finger in his mouth and  _ sucked _ .

“Mh.” He rumbled, “That’s good. What’s that?”

And two,  _ two _ déjà-vu.

Somehow he managed to regain control of his breathing.

“Smoothie Mushy Booty. Where have you been in the last seventy-five years?”

Steve smirked at him, showing off his beautiful fangs.

“Say it again.” He grabbed his waist, his big hands spanning over his body in a way that made him feel all dizzy.

“What?” Tony moved to fit better into his hold, “Smoothie Mushy Booty?”

Steve leaned over him.

“Yes.” He nodded, his nose rubbing behind his ear.

Tony closed his eyes, savoring that moment.

“Smoothie Mushy Booty.” He whispered.

Steve sighed on his neck.

“I missed you.” He heard him say softly, “ _ Omega _ .”

Steve's voice had dropped a couple of octaves and Tony let out a sigh, breathing deeply into his scent.

“Alpha.” He rubbed his open mouth on the warm skin of his neck, “I miss you too.”

He didn’t have to play Anthony Edward Stark, billionaire-genius-playboy-philanthropist-whatever. That man was his Alpha, he loved him, and he was able to get out of his character with him.

*

It took them some time to get out of that kitchen. Tony's hair was adorable disheveled and on Steve’s collarbone there was a small hickey already healing. In the living room, the rest of the team were doing their utmost to appear deadpanned, but it was pretty obvious that everyone was on their toes. It was almost funny to see them like this: sweet revenge for all the jokes they had been tormenting them with for years.

Steve sat down next to Natasha, handing her a glass of cocktail.

“Happy birthday.” He threw a kiss on her cheek.

“Thank you.”

She stared at him carefully. He smiled back, enigmatic, and said nothing more.

Steve exchanged a glance with Tony across the room. They had settled to wait a little longer before telling them. For Tony this would also have meant revealing his true sub-genre and it was not something that could be done on the spot, during a friend’s birthday party.

Right? Right.

But Steve had a hunch. And that hunch had Tony Stark's name and face. On the other hand, that was an Avengers party and you never knew how it would lead.

Steve and Clint challenged each other: arrow against shield, whoever lost would have to perform karaoke. Steve's shield was faster but he missed the Wanda’s magic target, Clint's arrow hit it. It was decreed that they had both lost, so they would have to  _ duet _ . Clint said he couldn't do it sober and Thor pulled out some bottles of his Asgardian liquor. While Natasha, as a birthday girl, chose the song, Steve drank a couple of glasses. Then he grabbed the microphone and from that moment he couldn't remember anything.

*

The next morning Tony woke up with a noticeable migraine. But, hey, he had had worse hangovers. Paradoxically he was the first to get up. He rolled off the bed without noticing the massive body sleeping next to him, and he shuffled out of the bedroom and down into the living room. He counted the fallen while on his way to the kitchen.

Maria was drooling on the six-hundred-dollar sofa upholstery, with Thor's feet in her face as he slept on his stomach. Sam was lying under the coffee table in the center of the room. Bruce was semi-conscious on one of the armchairs and waved to him but didn't dare to move: Natasha was sleeping curled up on him. Clint was snoring, sitting against a wall – how he could sleep in that position was a mystery.

Tony went into the kitchen and started the coffee machine. Something was wrong, he thought, scratching his head as he waited for the coffee to be ready.

Someone was missing from the rollcall. Ah, of course: Rhodey. Tony vaguely remembered Pepper picking him up around three in the morning. What about Vision and Wanda? He recalled the girl casting dubious spells across the sky and Vision wisely leading her to their quarters.

Still, Tony felt like he was missing something –  _ someone _ ?

The coffee smell filled his nostrils, rousing him from numbness. He poured himself a cup and took a slow sip and-

“Shit!”

What had happened the night before popped in his mind just like the coffee taste popped on his tongue.

He cursed himself. He cursed Thor and his fucking Asgardian liquor too. Steve was immune to terrestrial booze, but he had only needed a couple of glasses of that stuff to get high and Tony hadn't made it. His Alpha was destroying the Four Seasons, dancing on the table, anche he couldn’t just stand there and watch. Tony whistled and clapped his hands and generally made himself obvious in every possible way. And as if that weren't enough at one point he yelled "That's my Alpha!", and a chorus of shouts and cheers followed.

Then the song was over and Tony jumped on the table, took the microphone out of Steve's hand and yelled into it that it was an Omega, that it had always been an Omega, that he was sick of hiding because of a man who has been dead for twenty-four years. Then, he had started to cry in front of everyone. And then  _ everyone else _ had cried with him. He babble an apology to Natasha for ruining her birthday, but she tearfully said it was okay, that she was happy for him and some other thing that went lost in the mess, because then Thor came out of the kitchen announcing that he had prepared Pop-tarts for everyone and suddenly neither Tony nor the others wanted to cry anymore.

And that was how Tony had come out to his friends.

*

_ A month later. _

That mid-June morning, Steve had woken up in Tony's bed, happily drunk. Not because of Asgardian liquor, but his Omega’s ferormons in which he had slept all night. Tony wasn't next to him, but his side of the bed was still warm.

Following a primary impulse, Steve had jumped out of bed and started looking for him everywhere – the bathroom, the living room, the kitchen. The others were awakening one by one and like zombies they were moving around the rooms, some looking for a bathroom, some for caffeine, some for aspirin. Some of them were talking to him, but Steve could only think of Tony.

He had found him, eventually. He was locked in his den, crying. Steve had entered on tiptoe and slipped between the covers with him, hugging him tight.

“I fucked up.” He had sob.

Steve had started purring to comfort him.

“You didn't fucked up. They’re our friends. They’ll always be by our side.”

And it really was like that.

After the initial awkwardness and obvious jokes – which, as Clint had been keen to reassure them, would _ never end _ – they had done what true friends would do. They had teamed up around them and had supported them in all stages of that crazy thing they had embarked on.

In the following weeks, Tony had revealed his true sub-gender to the media, and at the same time he and Steve had announced their relationship. Predictably, that unleashed a shitstorm of unprecedented proportions. Tony was savvy to deal with this kind of thing, but that wasn’t just some sex tapes leaked. They were digging in some of most private life’s sides. So Steve strove to shield him, focusing exclusively on his Omega, while the rest of the team acted as a buffer between them and the greedy gossip world.

They weren't alone against everything, so they could afford to take a break from everything. From the superhero stuff, as well as Tony’s job in the S.I. Tony, and any other more or less public activity. They had a relationship to build and they needed to explore it without haste or prying eyes.

Tony had the implant on the mating gland removed, stopping the suppressants after twenty-five years. They didn't know when his next heat would come: he had been taking synthetic hormones since he was just a kid and his heats were patchy. He didn't really know his own body, he had never given himself time to find out. Some Omegas had four heats a year, others only one, he had yet to find out how it worked without chemicals running high in his blood.

Steve always stood beside him, silently studying his slow changes. His smell had changed slightly since he no longer took the suppressants, and although he kept to take scent blockers, with Steve’s super-smell it made no difference.

There were days in which Steve found himself smelling when Tony passed him. Then he grabbing him by an arm and pulling him close so he could shove his nose into the Omega neck and study his scent. Tony let him do it with a smug face and then everyone resumed doing what he was doing.

Other days, however, the opposite happened. Because Tony was not the only one who was feeling some changing. Their pheromones were working in synch.

*

Leather, resin and  _ distress _ .

“Hey, big boy.” Tony rubbed his nose against his Alpha’s neck, “What’s on your mind?”

Steve moved under him, hugging him tighter, enclosing him in a steel embrace. On TV there was  _ The Wizard of Oz  _ playing, it used to be Steve’s favourite movie but neither of them was really following it.

"Is this enough for you?" He said after a long silence.

Tony pulled his head away and searched his face. He wasn't sure he understood what exactly he meant.

“I don’t know.” He simply admitted, “Maybe I should take a cue from Barton. Build a farm, hoping no one tries to blow it up.”

“A farm life? For  _ you _ ?”

“A life out of the spotlight.” Tony corrected him.

it would be easy to mock him, but Steve seemed to understand what he meant. If they really wanted to carry  _ this _ on, they would have a lot to work on. First of all: how to reconcile their media lives with the instinct to take refuge far away and enjoy their intimacy in peace.

“Is that what you want? Family, stability... a simple life? Just that?”

Steve seemed to be incredulous. Not about what Tony wanted, but rather about what he thought he was able to give him. As if he believed there was no room for the man, only for the super-soldier, the living weapon.

“You'll get there too someday. Maybe sooner than you imagine.”

“I was already there. Seventy-five years ago. Then I ended up in the ice.”

Steve's voice was a bit too cold and distant. As if he were talking to him from those arctic ice in which he was trapped.

Fight and serve. No room for anything else. No room for the man.

Tony rested his head on his shoulder, nibbling his neck. Steve went back there: at that moment, to him.

“Now you're not on the ice anymore.”

And Tony distinctly felt the air change between them. Oh, it had happened so many times, but never like  _ this _ . When Steve pushed him down, Tony made no resistance and dropped onto the sofa, limbs soft, muscles relaxed. Steve stood on top of him without weighing him down, his huge mass covering him all over and his mouth on his. They kissed for a long time, jaws lax and tongues soft.

“I love it when you do this Alpha thing.” He murmured between kisses.

“I do a lot of Alpha things when I'm with you.” Steve answered caressing his face, “You have to be more specific.”

Tony smiled and as he resumed speaking he found himself a bit sheepish.

“Um... you know, when you stand on top of me and shield me from everything else.”

“Everything else?” Steve looked at him with interest, his blues eyes piecing him.

“The rest of the world.” Tony was following a thread of thoughts that is increasingly clear and yet so difficult to unravel, “My armor... I built them for this.”

“To get around the need for an Alpha?”

Tony raised his eyebrows.

“Okay,” He laughed nervously, “You couldn't have said it more crudely, but… yeah.”

“I’m sorry dollface.” purred Steve-

Tony shook his head: “It’s okay. I mean, why shouldn't I admit my weaknesses to you? You are my Alpha.”

Steve growled his pleasure at being called that, his scent tinged with desire. Tony let his arms hug him possessively, let him smell him with satisfaction.

“And I know it's ridiculous, I mean,  _ rationally _ it is, but... - Tony swallowed, usually he was good with words yet he didn't know how to put that thing into words, “But I feel safer like this than inside one of my Marks.”

Steve froze and with him the air in Tony's lungs. Because suddenly the little space between them was full of his fermons.

Leather, resin and  _ disbelief, wonder, love, mine, mine, MINE! _

Steve looked at him with velvety black eyes and Tony let out a sigh, softening under him, letting go. Tilting his head to the side, baring his neck.

*

So, this was what it felt like.

Breath ragged, Steve watched in amazement at the sight below him. He bent his head slightly, without daring to touch him, and smelled cautiously – An unnecessary reassurance but he felt he needed it.

Citrus, cinnamon and love. Nothing else. It was so intoxicating it made him dizzy.

He had always been aware, somehow, of the real function of Tony's armor. And how that physical armor was nothing more than a projection of the emotional armor under which the Omega was buried. He also knew that what was going on between them was corroding the armor in which he was hidden. There were many of those cracks, now. A wider breath, a stronger heartbeat, and everything shielding Tony from the rest of the world would vanish, leaving him helpless and exposed.

But Steve was there. The Alpha would protect his Omega from his own insecurities, at least as long as he needed it. What he didn't expect, however, was that this admission of weakness, this plea for help, could imply so much. That seeing Tony baing his neck for him, keeping his breath so steady in front of his fangs, could have such a bearing on him.

Of course Steve knew how important that gesture was in a relationship, but he naively thought he was ready. On the other hand, they had already said they loved each other. Yet this went  _ beyond _ everything.

His fangs throbbed as much as the knot on his swelling cock and…  _ Oh _ , he wasn't the only one to be tested by the situation. Steve leaned over him again and this time he didn't hold back. The Alpha emerged from the shadows where it was hiding and took what it needed.

He rubbed his open mouth on Tony’s allouring neck, ripping a thrill from the Omega beneath him. Steve let out a low growl and rolled his hips, pressing their crotches together. The Omega cautiously responded to his movement and they started rubbing against each other, one of Tony’s hands firmly on the back of his head to hold him against his neck, the other searched and found Steve’s hands and interviewed their fingers.

Steve grabbed Tony's thighs to open his legs better and gasped on the moist skin of his neck. The tip of his fangs scraped lightly –  _ so lightly  _ – the spot that one day he would mark forever. At that touch, the chrysalis in which Tony had hidden for so many years was definitely broken apart, revealing the Omega. Tony came moaning softly and Steve downed in his sweet syrupy scent. It was enough to bring him to the edge.

“That's what I want.”

Tony's voice was still faltering by the orgasm, his breath unsteady, his eye glimmering. Steve looked at him with adoration.

“In any shape, in any life... I want this.”

“I'll give you this.” He promised with a soft kiss, “In any shape, in any life.”


End file.
